Chosen to Rise, Destined to Fall
by A Amelia Black
Summary: Even the most innocent of hearts can be twisted and turned to evil. A story where a child's innocence and goodness will be lost to evil. Everyone has a destiny, but for one child, it may be the darkest destiny of them all.This is a very different TR story
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: **all property of JKR_

_**A/N:** This fic was written before HBP, however, I've recently modified it slightly to fit into HBP. Yes, there will be differences in the beginning, but as the chapters go on, it willl stick to canon and HBP. Please keep this in mind when reading._

_Also, this version of Tom is different from most and I chose to write him this way to keep it different. Why does he have to start out evil? Yes, we know how he is when Dumbledore first meets him. But what about before then. Dumbledore only knows what he's heard of Tom, so give it a few years, he can build himself quite the reputation._

_Other than that, enjoy! Please review, you know you want to :D _

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_**Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall**_

**Prologue**

Sister Mary walked through the central garden of St. Augustine's, smiling as she smelled the fresh, clean scent of snow. It was a perfect December day in Greater Hangleton, a little warmer than usual and a clear blue sky. There were no chores to be done around the convent for several hours yet, and prayer services had just finished. Sister Mary was taking advantage of the free time by indulging in her favorite pastime of taking leisurely walks through the gardens. Sister Mary loved the central garden the most out of the gardens the nuns maintained. Even during the cooler months, the pathways were always clear and evergreens poked up through the glittering snow.

Several of her other Sisters were taking leisurely walks through the vast snow-covered gardens, occasionally stopping and continuing to talk. They discussed many things of relevance to God, from His glory to the shame of the fall from Eden. Sister Mary chose not to join them because she still felt like an outsider within the nunnery. Sister Mary, at twenty-two, was the youngest nun by far and Abbess Catherine, the head of St. Augustine's, had been very kind to her and helped her adjust. She had grown up in a very small town, miles from Greater Hangleton.

The town had not been the nicest of places for a child of the Lord to grow up. She and her parents may have been devout, but the majority of the town had been awash in sin. Crime and all sorts of debauchery had been commonplace. After her parents had died, she had gotten away from that town as quickly as possible. She had joined the nunnery while the pain of her parent's deaths had still been fresh, and the other Sisters had really helped her cope with the loss. She had never regretted her decision to join the nuns to free herself from the darker sides of humanity she had seen during her childhood.

She heard a bell in the distance and turned, heading back inside for their afternoon gathering.

The night of New Year's Eve came with gusts of bitter cold and heavy snow. Sister Mary had aided the other sisters in latching down the shutters and keeping the fires stoked to get through the nasty bout of weather. She was just finishing adding wood to the fire when she realized that she had forgotten to latch the lock on the wood shed.

Pulling on her winter robe, she made her way outside. The wind was sharp and biting, her skin turning red in an instant. She could see her breath in front of her face and the snow was falling fast and hard. It wasn't exactly the ideal conditions to go to the shed, but she knew that if she didn't latch it, the snow would pile on top the wood and ruin it.

"Sister!" a voice cried and Sister Mary turned to see a woman standing at the gates that led out to the street. Her thin clothes hung around her and if not for her obvious pregnancy, Sister Mary would have thought she was malnourished. She hurried towards the gate and opened it just in time as the woman staggered and fell into Sister Mary's arms.

"Miss!" she cried out in alarm, her eyes wide. She didn't know what to do and the woman was in dire need. She struggled with the weight but managed to help the woman inside. "Sisters!" Several of her Sisters had just turned the corner and immediately ran to her aide.

"The poor thing! What happened?" asked Sister Caroline, helping Sister Mary to carry the woman towards a smaller bedroom.

"She was at the gates and just collapsed," said Sister Mary, frantic.

"Go to Abbess Catherine," said Sister Caroline. "The other Sisters and I will tend to the young woman." The two other Sisters in the room nodded and Sister Mary ran out of the room.

* * *

Within a few hours, the woman gave birth to a boy and died soon after. The Sisters had prayed for her to live, but she was too sick and didn't seem to have the strength to continue living. 

The nunnery was silent except for prayers and sadness draped over the building like a blanket. Sister Mary was walking through the corridors and turned to go up a flight of stairs to Abbess Catherine's office.

"Abbess?" Sister Mary called softly, rapping lightly on the door.

"Come in, child," a warm voice said and Sister Mary opened the door slowly, walking into the small office. A few candles were burning and a fire blazed brightly in the fireplace. The cold stones that made up the floors of the nunnery were covered with a thin, red carpet. A mahogany desk sat near the back and behind it sat Abbess Catherine, a tall, very old, extremely pious woman. However, her face was warm and her eyes inviting. "How can I help you, child?" she asked.

Sister Mary swallowed and stepped forward. "Does the child have any family, Abbess?"

"The only person that the young woman spoke of was the father. She said 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and told us that he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for _her_ father. His surname is Riddle. We can only pray and hope that the boy's father comes for him," she said softly, sadness etched in he features. She was quiet for a few moments and Sister Mary waited patiently, looking out the window at the snow covered rooftops of the lower levels of the nunnery and in the distance, she could make out a few of the taller buildings of Greater Hangleton and the dark shadowy mountains beyond that.

"Sister Mary," Abbess Catherine said, breaking Sister Mary from her thoughts.

"Yes, Abbess?" Sister Mary said, looking back at Abbess Catherine.

"I think we should take in this child, for I think the Lord would wish us to. Our job in life is to help those in need and this child is very much in need of caring. We will raise him in our ways, and hopefully save him and help him towards enlightenment." Abbess Catherine nodded, almost to herself. "Yes, I will take care of this child, if no family should come for him."

"What will be his name?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, as was his mother's wish. And Tom Marvolo Riddle he shall be."


	2. The Very best of Friends

**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part One: The Awakening**

**Chapter One**

**- The Very Best of Friends -**

"Just you wait until I get out of here, Vincent!" an eight-year old Tom Riddle yelled from his buried position in a pile of snow. He was trying to be angry, but was laughing too hard to accomplish it. "You'll be a snowman!"

Vincent Schaeffer, an eight-year old boy that Tom had known since he was three and his very best friend, was standing a bit away, laughing. "Well, you can't very well make me a snowman when you can't use your arms."

Tom struggled against the snow that was pinning him to the ground but Vincent had got him good this time. Of course, that's what he got for standing behind his snow fort when Vincent had charged him.

Vincent's gray eyes sparkled and there was a huge grin on his face. "I think I won this battle," he said with a laugh.

Tom laughed. "Looks like it to me. Now help me up, would you?"

Vincent walked over and grabbed Tom beneath his arms, hauling him out of the snow.

"Thanks," Tom said and then, in a flash, grabbing a ball of snow and threw it at Vincent. "Snowball fight!"

"Oohh . . . you're going to get it!" Vincent cried, laughing as he picked up snow and threw the balls at Tom. This continued for several minutes until both of them were soaked through and shivering in the chilly breeze. Clouds had begun to form overhead and although it was the beginning of April, it looked like more snow was on the way.

"Let's go in," Tom said, his teeth chattering.

Vincent nodded, shivering. "I could go for some hot chocolate right about now."

"Definitely."

"Boys!" a voice called and they turned to see Sister Mary standing beneath an archway, smiling at them. She held up two steaming mugs. "Hot chocolate!"

They grinned and ran over to her. "Thanks, Sister Mary! You're the best!" Tom cried as he took the steaming mug of hot chocolate between his gloved hands, wrapping his long, spindly fingers around it.

"You always know exactly what we need," Vincent said with a smile, taking his mug.

Tom took a sip and let out a small cry of pain. "Ow! That's hot!"

"Well, it is _hot_ chocolate," Vincent said, laughing.

Tom glared at him. "I figured that much."

Sister Mary chuckled. "Why don't you two come inside? There's a nasty storm on the way and we don't want to be caught up in it."

They nodded and followed Sister Mary deeper into the convent, passing corridor after corridor. As they walked, Tom took hesitant sips of his hot chocolate, determined not to get burned again, and, looking at Sister Mary's back, he fell into deep thought.

Sister Mary had always been there for him, before he could even remember. Abbess Catherine, his mother, had raised him well in the ways of the Lord. Every night before he went to bed, Tom would say his prayers and always kept a cross around his neck on a thin chain. A few years ago, he had found out that he had been adopted by Abbess Catherine, for his mother had died after giving birth to him but Tom wished every night that he could see her, always wondering what she had looked like.

Tom glanced over to his right where Vincent was walking, taking sips of his hot chocolate and looking straight ahead. The light of the torches that they passed flickered, making Vincent's white-blond hair shimmer in the light, a stark contrast to Tom's jet-black hair. Of course, Vincent never seemed to have a problem keeping his short hair in line when Tom, no matter what he did, could not make his hair behave if his life depended on it.

Tom smiled. He didn't know what he'd do without Vincent, even though the Sisters were very kind and were like a huge family to him. Vincent had always been there for him, and Tom planned on always being there for Vincent. They were the very best of friends and closer than brothers. Sister Mary and several of the other Sisters would always tease them that they were joined at the hip and nothing could or would ever separate them.

Vincent caught his gaze and grinned. "What are you smiling at?" he asked.

Tom grinned. "What are you?"

"I asked you first."

"True. . . . I was just thinking about how we've been best friends so long and that we'll always remain the best of friends."

Vincent nodded. "You got that right. Friends to the end."

"Whenever that may be."

Sister Mary stopped, turning to face them. They looked at her. "Dinner will be served shortly, so wash up and come downstairs."

They nodded. "Yes, Sister Mary," they said in unison and she smiled.

"You two can look so innocent at times, but I know what pranks you can pull," she said with a chuckle.

They laughed. "I don't know what you're talking about," Tom said, an innocent look on his face.

Vincent just grinned and Sister Mary nodded knowingly.

"I'll see you at dinner." She left them standing in front of the room that they shared and they walked in, setting their mugs down on the table and taking turns washing their faces. There was little heat in their room, but they were bundled up enough not to take notice too much. Anything was better than standing out side in the blistering cold a moment longer.

* * *

"Give me that back!" Vincent yelled, turning red in the face. 

Tom just laughed at him, and shook his head. "Not until you admit it."

The two boys had changed out of their sopping clothes, and had come to the large playroom where two other boys who lived in the convent were. Henry Stevens, a burly boy of nine with coarse brown hair and hard eyes, was fiddling with a small radio he had been trying to repair for over a year. Shawn Beldon, a blond-haired, slight, eight-year old boy with the disposition of a mouse, was reading in the corner.

"I'm not admitting anything," Vincent shot back, reaching for the piece of paper Tom was holding behind his back, "because it's not true!"

"What's not true?" Henry said from across the room. He was sprawled across an armchair, one foot knocking against the wall. He always sat in the same position, and a black mark on the wall attested to that. Sister Rosemary, one of the crankier nuns at the convent, often yelled at Henry for his 'lack of respect.' Henry, to date, had not allowed the admonishments to stop him in the least.

"Vincent loves Sister Mary," Tom replied with a grin, his unusually bright blue eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Of course he loves her," Shawn said, looking up from his book. "We all love her."

Henry snorted. "Not like that, you git. Vincent wants to _marry_ her."

"No, I don't!" Vincent exclaimed, his face still red. "I just think she's really nice, that's all!"

"Sure," Tom and Henry both said, looked at each other, and then burst into laughter.

"Just . . . give me my paper back!" Vincent snapped, leaping towards Tom.

Tom evaded Vincent's attack, and took off as the slightly smaller boy began to chase him around the room. On the third trip around the room, Tom threw the paper at Henry. "Catch!"

Henry snatched the paper while it was still floating through the air, and looked at it, a grin flashing across his features. "You sure you don't love Sister Mary?"

Vincent blushed to the tips of his ears, and meekly protested. "I don't."

"Then would you care if I," Henry held the paper in front of him, taunt between both hands, and began to make a tiny rip in it, "ripped your picture of her in two."

"No!" Vincent yelped, and ran at Henry. He knocked the slightly older boy's chair over and began to wrestle him for the picture. The play-fighting, though, quickly turned into a real fight as Henry refused to relinquish the treasured drawing of Vincent's.

Shawn watched the fight with growing uneasiness. He just _knew_ that they were going to get into big trouble. He hated disobeying any rules, and didn't like to be around when rules were being broken. And wrestling over a picture Vincent had drawn of Sister Mary was definitely against the rules. "Maybe you shouldn't fight," he ventured cautiously.

Neither of the fighting boys heard him. Vincent managed to get a punch in, but Henry was otherwise wiping the floor with the blond boy.

Shawn tried to think of some way to stop them from fighting. One of them, probably Vincent, was going to get hurt. He gave Tom, who was watching the fight with rapt attention, a desperate look. Tom just shrugged, looking as helpless as Shawn. He might have been the tallest boy at the convent, but Henry outweighed him considerably and was much stronger.

Just then, Sister Mary swept into the room, her long black habit swishing around her. "Boys, time for din-" She took in the scene before her. "Boys!"

She rushed over to where Vincent and Henry were still in a scuffle. "Boys! Cease and desist this behavior at once!" She tapped the shoulder of the boy on top, who happened to be Vincent.

He turned, and saw Sister Mary. A tiny frightened sound escaped his throat, and he began to pull away from Henry, who had stopped throwing punches once he realized Sister Mary was standing there.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sister Mary demanded, glaring at both boys.

"Umm..." Vincent said, staring down at his scuffed shoes.

"I didn't give Vincent his picture back," Henry explained, shoving the now crinkled paper at the other boy. "I apologize."

After shoving the drawing into his pocket, Vincent, glancing up from his shoes, muttered something that could be roughly translated as, "I'm also sorry."

Sister Mary sighed, and took a good look at both the boys; taking in Vincent's bleeding lip and Henry's black eye. "Let's get you two fixed up and then I suggest we get to dinner before the stew gets cold."

After having their cuts and bruises treated, Vincent and Henry came back and the four boys followed the nun to the dining hall of the convent.

The dining hall was a large room, with a long table lined with chairs dominating it, though four small tables adorned with vases sat in the corners for decoration. There, they saw Joseph Emerson sitting at the table already. Joseph was the final boy who lived at the convent. He was also snootier than an abandoned boy had any right to be. Tom and Shawn took their customary seats beside him, and watched as Sister Mary led Henry and Vincent to the head of the table, where Abbess Catherine sat.

"What happened to _them?"_ Joseph asked, staring at the disheveled boys disdainfully. Tom shushed him, and motioned for him to pay attention to what the sister was saying.

"Henry and Vincent got into a tussle," Sister Mary told Abbess Catherine.

"I see," Abbess Catherine said, turning to the two boys in question. "After our meal, you both should go to the chapel and pray forgiveness for this sin. And every time you look in the mirror, you will be reminded of this incident. I expect this not to happen again, understood?"

"Yes, Abbess," Henry and Vincent chorused. She nodded for them to go and they then scrambled over to their part of the table, taking their seats across from Tom, Shawn, and Joseph.

"Where were you all afternoon?" Vincent asked Joseph.

"I was writing my parents a letter," replied the other boy snobbishly. "I'm just positive that they're going to pick me up before summer."

"Of course they are," Henry said sarcastically. "They _really_ did just go on a safari in Africa for the past two years. And I'm sure they've just been a little too busy killing elephants to write you a letter."

Joseph glared at him. "They've wrote to me."

"Then where are all these letters at?"

"They just got lost in the mail. You know how unreliable international shipping is."

"Uh-huh," Henry said. "Every one of your letters somehow ended up at the bottom of the Atlantic."

"Shush!" Shawn said, looking at the nuns nervously. "They're going to hear you!"

"So?" Henry said, glaring at Joseph.

"At least my parents aren't dead," Joseph hissed at the larger boy. Henry didn't even acknowledge the jab and reached for a piece of bread to go with his stew.

Tom, however, had to say something. "It seems to me that it's worse getting abandoned by uncaring parents than being orphaned by loving parents."

Vincent, who had been silently dipping his bread into his soup and eating the sopping mess that resulted, finally spoke. "Joseph, be quiet. You're going to get us all in trouble."

Shawn glanced at the nuns in apprehension. He didn't want to get into trouble. He always figured that if he was really, really good, his parents might come back for him. He missed them terribly. His mother had always smelled like fudge and soap, and she had smiled often. His father had dirt permanently stuck under his fingernails, which his mother had often chastised him over. Shawn glanced down at his fingers. They were perfectly clean. His mother would have been proud.

Joseph ignored Vincent's warning. "Well, Tom, you would know, wouldn't you? After all, your mother's dead, and your father abandoned you. Which parent do you prefer? Of course, I don't see how you could choose, since your father wanted to get rid you. You must have been pretty worthless for him not to care."

Tom didn't answer. He just jabbed his spoon at his stew angrily. Suddenly, the vases fell off all four of the small tables around the room with a shattering crash Small pieces of broken pottery scattered all over the floor.

The five boys jumped, looking at the broken vases, their eyes wide.

"Oh, my!" cried Sister Mary. The other nuns echoed her sentiments, and they stood from the table quickly, rushing to find dustbins and to clean up the mess. They muttered amongst themselves as they picked up the shards of pottery.

"How did this happen?"

"It was a sign from the Lord!"

"I _told_ the Abbess the floor in here was unsteady!"

The five young boys, who had been commanded to remain at the table, watched the action with rapt attention. The nuns got the mess cleaned up, and Sister Mary came over to the boys.

"I think it's about time for you boys to get to bed," she said in a no-nonsense way. She got five reluctant nods in return, and they left the dining hall, headed for the large room upstairs that served as their dormitory. They all got into their nightclothes, and avoided cleaning up like the plague. After saying their prayers, they climbed into their beds. A few moments later, Sister Mary swept into the room.

"What was that?" Vincent asked her.

"Just a little accident," Sister Mary said with a smile. "So you need not worry about Judgment Day coming for any of you."

"Oh."

Sensing that Sister Mary did not want to speak any more of the subject, they were quiet.

"Goodnight, boys," she said. "Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight, Sister Mary," came the sleepy mumble of the boys. Sister Mary left, shutting the heavy wooden door behind her, and the room was enveloped in darkness.

Tom lay in his bed, eyes still open and roaming the darkened room fruitlessly. He could never just fall asleep at night, no matter how tired he was, or how exciting a day was to follow. He listened to the sounds of the other boys in the room. To his left, Joseph's breathing was already slow and steady. That boy was so very confident that his beloved parents were returning for him, while anyone with eyes could see that they weren't. Joseph refused to listen to anyone who tried to tell him reason, though.

His best friend, Vincent, slept on his other side. Vincent was mumbling to himself a little, just as he always did right before succumbing to sleep. Tom strained to hear what he said, and grinned as he heard the words, "That's _my_ picture!"

Across the room, Shawn was sobbing quietly into his pillow. Tom supposed he should be used to hearing this by now, as Shawn had cried himself to sleep almost every night since he had been brought here two and a half years ago. He had adored his parents, but they had died of cholera. Shawn had also caught the infectious disease, but had survived. Tom sometimes thought it might have been more merciful of God to have taken Shawn with his parents, but God apparently had another plan for the mousy boy.

"Don't cry, they're not coming back," Henry mumbled to Shawn.

This only made Shawn cry harder, but Tom knew that Henry wasn't trying to be cruel. Henry had grown up in a rough, poverty stricken neighborhood, and had a much different perspective on life than melancholy Shawn. Henry, who had only been at the convent for a year, probably had loved his parents deeply, but he refused to show his grief over their passing. He claimed that showing grief was weak, and would only bring you more troubles. Tom thought that idea might have its advantages, though he really didn't see anything wrong with missing the parents he had lost. He missed his mother, after all, and he'd never really even known her.

As Shawn's sobs died off, Tom likewise found himself drifting to sleep.

One last thought snaked its way through his young brain before he slipped out of consciousness.

_I wonder what caused those vases to fall..._


	3. The prank

**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part One: The Awakening**

**Chapter Two**

**-****The Prank -**

The rain poured from the heavens, soaking the ground and forming large puddles in the gardens. Tom and Vincent, however, were undaunted by this gloomy May weather and ran outside, playing tag in the rain. Henry joined in after awhile and the chase intensified. Shawn watched from the shadows, not wanting to become soaked through, almost wishing that he could go out and play, if only he wasn't so worried about getting dirty. Joseph, of course, was sitting up in his room, writing yet another letter to the parents he just knew were coming to pick him up. Every once and while, he would glance out the window and watch as the three boys ran around, laughing. Then he would sneer, roll his eyes, mutter, "Pathetic," and go back to his letter.

"You can't outrun me forever!" Henry yelled, trying to catch Tom and Vincent, who thus far had eluded him.

Vincent and Tom, however, had very different ideas and had found a hidden spot beneath a large bush. They sat down on the damp ground. "Okay," Tom whispered, grinning as he watched Henry stop and look around, trying to find the two boys. If everything went according to plan, Henry was going to be "It" for quite some time. "Now, he's here," Tom said, drawing a dot in the dirt to represent Henry. "Sister Mary and Sister Rosemary will be in the classroom, going over tomorrow's lesson plan." He drew a quick sketch of the convent and placed two dots where the two nuns were. "Joseph will be in his room," he said, drawing another picture, "Shawn is watching us from the overhang, and Abbess Catherine will be patrolling the eastern halls as usual. Now, that leaves Sister Sarah, Sister Gwendolyn, and Sister Tabitha to worry about . . ."

"I heard Sister Sarah and Sister Gwendolyn talking about praying in the chapel in the afternoon, so they should be there," Vincent said, drawing two dots inside the 'chapel'.

Tom nodded. "Okay, good . . . now what about Sister Tabitha?"

Vincent shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Tom frowned. "If anyone sees us, this won't work. Hmm, I wonder," he mused, biting his lip and looking over the drawing.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" they heard Henry yell. Vincent looked up and saw that Henry was now near the front gate, quite a bit away from them. Vincent looked back at Tom, who was still examining the picture.

"Hah," Tom said quietly, grinning. "I don't believe I forgot. Remember yesterday when we were walking past their common room and Sister Tabitha and Abbess Catherine were sitting in there, talking?" Vincent nodded. "Well, they were talking about today and Abbess Catherine was giving Sister Tabitha some advice on what to do while visiting the convent in Birmingham . . . so that's where she is! I was wondering why she wasn't at breakfast . . . but now I realize she must have left this morning."

"Brilliant," Vincent said, grinning. He looked down at the crude drawing. "Okay, so we do it now?"

Tom nodded. "But we're going to need Shawn to be the lookout, to make sure no one is coming."

"Right."

"Let's go." Making sure Henry wasn't looking in their direction, Tom erased the drawing, and the two boys crept back to the convent as quietly as they could. Vincent, backing up against a wall, made a soft noise to catch Shawn's attention, who saw him and gave him a confused expression. Vincent motioned for him to come over and when he did, Vincent quickly explained their plan.

"I don't know . . . that's not very nice . . ." Shawn said quietly.

"Oh, come on, Shawn," Tom said, stepping up behind Vincent. He looked down at the small boy, who barely came up to his shoulder. "It's not going to hurt anyone and it'll be fun!"

"But I don't want to get into trouble."

Tom clapped Shawn on the shoulder, his long fingers nearly covering it. "But that's the beauty of it. If you look out for us, then we won't get caught . . . we'll all have a bit of harmless fun. What do you say?"

Shawn looked down, shuffling his feet. "Well . . . if you're sure we won't get in trouble."

"Have I ever misled you?" Tom said, grinning innocently.

Shawn looked at Tom with a sarcastic expression of 'Should I answer?' but only said, "Okay, fine. But if I see a nun coming, I'm telling you and then I'm leaving."

Tom shrugged. "I never said you had to stay. Thanks!"

Tom and Vincent began walking down the long corridor, deep in discussion, their hands waving animatedly. Shawn trailed behind, shaking his head and muttering, "Why am I _always _the look out . . . one of these days, I'm going to get caught . . . I don't believe I'm doing this." But there was a small smile on his face as he looked at the two boys. _The very best of friends . . . inseparable. I wish I had close friends like that . . ._

Tom and Vincent, meanwhile, were discussing their plan. "Okay, so you have the screwdriver?" Tom asked.

Vincent nodded, patting his trouser pocket. "Right here."

"And do you have the key to the shed?"

"Yep."

"And you're sure all the nuns are where they're supposed to be?"

"Positive."

"Brilliant," Tom said, grinning. "Now, time to get to work." He turned, gave the signal to Shawn, and he and Vincent turned down the corridor and entered the dining hall. There was only the long table, with eleven chairs lining it. Tom knelt down by the first chair and, taking the screwdriver from Vincent, began unscrewing all the screws that held the cushioned seat on the chair. Removing the seat, he set it down on the floor and proceeded to work at the next one. Finally, between the two of them, he and Vincent managed to carry the cushioned seats out of the convent and to the shed where all the wood was stored for the winter. Since the nuns never came out to bring in the wood (that was the boys' job), this would be the last place that they would look.

They piled them in the corner and then, signaling Shawn to make sure Henry was still walking around the garden, crept back into the convent and headed for the nuns' common room.

Vincent peered around the corner and, giving Tom's a thumbs up, they crept into the room and proceeded to remove all the seats from there as well. But this time, they also removed the cushions from the couches, leaving only the bare wood. Grinning at each other, they snuck the cushions out to the shed and then locked it. Thankfully, it had stopped raining.

"They're going to be in for a shock come dinner," Tom said with a broad grin.

"Definitely," Vincent said, grinning just as broadly. Then they felt someone tap their shoulders and they froze. Slowly turning around, they came face to face with Henry, who grinned.

"You're 'It'," he said, smirking.

Vincent and Tom looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Henry asked, crossing his arms.

"You'll see," Tom said mysteriously. Then he tapped Henry on the shoulder. "You're 'It'." Then Tom bolted, Vincent quickly behind as Henry chased after them.

* * *

Tom and Vincent had just changed out of their muddy clothes and were heading out of their room when Joseph passed by them. He glanced behind them and, looking at the pile of brown clothes hanging out of the laundry basket, he sneered. "Disgusting," he said, lifting his nose. "You would think you would at least have some common sense _not_ to play in the mud like pigs."

"You know what, Joseph," Tom said, glaring at the boy who was nearly as tall as him. "I don't care what you think. At least I know how to have fun. And at least I know that I'm going somewhere, somewhere big, and you . . . are not. You're going to be stuck in an orphanage for the rest of your life, only having your miserable self for consolation. If you don't want to be all alone when you are older, I suggest you tune your attitude and take a few notches off of your arrogance meter." Tom turned, grabbed Vincent, and walked away from a very stunned Joseph.

When they reached the dining hall, they bit their lips to keep from bursting out in laughter as they watched the nuns look at the de-seated chairs, muttering in confusion. "Where have they all gone?" Sister Gwendolyn asked, looking around as if the room would tell her where the cushions were.

"Someone unscrewed all the seats," Sister Sarah said, examining the chairs.

Sister Mary spotted the two boys and walked over, looking at the two boys. Although Tom was nearly as tall as she was, her stern gaze never faltered. "Abbess Catherine wishes to speak with you."

Tom and Vincent glanced at each other and then followed Sister Mary up to the head of the hall where the Abbess stood. Sister Mary left the two boys standing in front of the Abbess.

"I would hope that neither of you had anything to do with this," she said sternly.

"Of course not," Tom said, placing an innocent look on his face. "Why would we remove all the cushions so you had no place to sit?"

"It seems that all the seats have been removed from our common room as well."

"Do you know where the seats are?"

"I was hoping that one of you might be able to tell me," she said, looking at both of them in turn.

"Why would we know?" Vincent asked innocently.

Abbess Catherine frowned. "I'm not in the mood for your games." She looked over their shoulders, spotting someone. "Shawn! Please come over here."

"Oh, brilliant," Tom muttered, looking at Vincent, who let out a soft groan.

"Shawn," Abbess Catherine said, "do you know where all the seats have gone?"

"Um . . ." Shawn said hesitantly. He glanced at Tom and Vincent, who both gave him warning glares. "I . . . n -"

"I know where they are, Abbess," a loud voice said and the three boys turned to see Joseph standing smugly in the doorway. He held up the key to the shed.

"Vincent!" Tom hissed.

"What! I didn't give it to him!" Vincent whispered back.

"Then how did he get it?"

"How should I know? The last time I had it was in my pocket!"

"You dolt!" Tom groaned. "We left the clothes in our room. Why didn't you grab the key?"

"I forgot!"

"Vincent!"

"Tom!"

"Care to enlighten us, Joseph?" Abbess Catherine said, an eyebrow raised. Tom and Vincent both glared at Joseph venomously.

"Of course, Abbess." Joseph looked pointedly at Tom and Vincent. "It seems that two of your more . . . less than satisfactory boys have removed the cushions and placed them in the shed."

"And who would these two boys be?"

"Tom and Vincent," Joseph said, as if he was announcing something extraordinary.

Henry walked in at that time, about to say something, but then he stopped, seeing the seat-less chairs and the tenseness between Joseph, the Abbess, Tom, and Vincent.

The Abbess turned to face Vincent and Tom, the look on her face leaving no room for argument. "I want to see the both of you in my office immediately."

"Yes, Abbess," they said quickly and hurried out of the room, glaring at Joseph the entire time. Joseph just shrugged and handed the key to the Abbess.

"Thank you, Joseph," she said and left the room.

"Anytime," Joseph said quietly, grinning smugly.

* * *

Tom and Vincent stood in front of the Abbess in her office, completely silent. "I am very disappointed in the both of you. Playing a prank like that!" She shook her head. "And what do you think the Lord would have to say of this?" Neither of them spoke. "Well?"

"I would ask his forgiveness, Abbess," Vincent said quietly.

"It was only a harmless joke," Tom protested.

"Harmless, perhaps, but that still does not negate what you have done."

"I'm sorry," Vincent said.

"You will both take the cushions and place them back on the chairs, and once you have finished that, you will clean the entire dining hall and the common room. And, after that, you will go to the chapel to pray for forgiveness for what you have done."

"Yes, Abbess," they said in unison.

"You may go."

They left and headed back to their room. "That horrible prat!" Tom cried, punching one of his hands into the palm of the other. "Why did he have to go and tell on us?"

"He had to get back at you for what you said earlier."

"That snob will get what's coming to him," Tom said darkly. "He needs to learn his place."

"Tom, don't do anything rash," Vincent warned, slightly nervous at the dark look on his best friend's face.

Tom smiled, the dark look disappearing. "Of course not. I'm not stupid. I'm just saying that people like that always end up getting what they deserve. Horrible people like that will never be happy."

"Very true."

* * *

"Shawn, I am especially disappointed in you," Abbess Catherine said, looking at the small boy that stood in front of her. "To think that you had anything to do with that prank. I thought you knew better!"

"I'm sorry, Abbess." Shawn bowed his head. _I knew it! I just knew we'd get caught! Drat!_

"You will join your fellow pranksters tonight to help clean the dining hall and our common room, understood?"

"Yes, Abbess."

"You may go."

Shawn nodded and retreated quickly out of her office, heading back to his room. _Why did I agree to help them? Sooner or later, I knew that they would get caught. And now . . . now the Abbess looks down upon me and I can't bear that. She's like another mother to me and her confidence in me means all the world. I can't believe I betrayed her trust. I'm so angry at myself! I should never have gone through with it!_ Suddenly, a huge portrait hanging on the wall fell to the ground with a loud crash, startling Shawn from his thoughts. He glanced at the huge portrait, swallowing. _I didn't touch it! Why did it fall?_ He backed up and ran for his room.

* * *

"Okay, so here's the plan," Tom said that evening as he and Vincent lay in bed. Henry, Shawn, and Joseph had gone to bed already and were sound asleep. Henry, of course, had congratulated them on a brilliant prank and that they did it without getting caught . . . and they would have gotten away with it if Joseph hadn't tattled on them.

Tom stretched his sore muscles, extending his legs. They had cleaned the dining hall and the common room until it had shone and it probably wouldn't have been as bad if Sister Rosemary hadn't been watching over them the entire time. They didn't speak a word and Shawn, who had been cleaning along with them, hadn't said a word the entire time and afterwards, they had tried to apologize, but he seemed nervous about something and had scampered off before they had a chance to talk.

"I can't believe you're planning the next prank when we got caught!" Vincent whispered, shaking his head and chuckling.

"Well, this time, we'll make sure a certain person doesn't leave the key were a certain snobby two-faced prat can find it."

Vincent rolled his eyes. "Point taken. So, what do you have in mind?"

Tom laughed quietly and quickly explained his plan. Joseph snorted and they both froze, watching as he rolled over in his sleep, but he didn't awaken.

They let out sighs of relief and looked at each other, smiles on their faces. "Tomorrow morning we can talk about it some more."

Vincent nodded. "Definitely."

"Good night, Vincent."

"Good night, Tom."


	4. Revenge

**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part One: The Awakening**

**Chapter Three**

**-****Revenge -**

"Do you have it?"

"Yep."

"And you didn't leave anything out for him to see?"

"No, I'm not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice."

"So you're sure."

"Yes! Blimey, Tom, you would think you're in a life and death situation here, instead of a prank."

"I'm just being careful, Vincent. I don't want to mess up this time."

"It'll all go as planned. Don't worry."

"So you have it?"

"YES! Now stop worrying!"

"You're sure?"

"TOM!"

"Okay, okay! Sorry . . . where is it?"

"In my trunk."

"Not in an obvious place so Joseph will see it?"

"No!"

"Dinner. That's when it has to happen. All the nuns and the Abbess are in the chapel right now for their mass. Joseph is outside; Shawn is reading in the library, and Henry is cleaning the gardens so that the nuns don't have to worry about hauling everything. We'll go out and help him as soon as we finish setting our prank up."

"I'll go get it then. Meet you in the dining hall?"

"Yes. Now go."

"Already gone."

* * *

Tom stood in the dining hall, tapping his foot anxiously as he leaned up against the doorframe. _Come on, Vincent._ He peeked around the corner, but there was no sign of his best friend. _This prank is going to be good, just as long as we don't get caught again._

Finally, he heard the soft pad of footsteps and a few minutes later, Vincent entered the dining hall, lugging a huge bucket full of dark gray liquid.

Tom peered into the sea of gray. "Are you sure this is it?"

"Yes. Will you stop worrying?" Vincent said, laughter in his gray eyes.

Tom rolled his eyes. "I'm just being careful."

Vincent smiled. "Whatever you say."

Tom grinned and walked over to Joseph's chair, squatting down next to it. "Here, bring that stuff over." Vincent hauled the bucket over and dropped it next to Tom.

"You wouldn't believe how heavy this stuff is! How much are you planning on using?"

"Just enough to work." And then Tom pulled out a piece of metal and scooped some of the gray mass onto it, setting it on the chair. The brilliant part was, the gray stuff matched the cushion and so Joseph would not have a clue as to what he was sitting on.

Tom grinned as he slathered the liquid all over the seat. Vincent glanced around. "Hurry up. Dinner is going to be served soon," Vincent said.

"Don't worry." Tom looked at Vincent. "All done." He stood and dropped the metal piece into the liquid. "Let's go." Tom grabbed the handle on the bucket and, making sure the chair looked inconspicuous, the two boys left the dining hall.

* * *

As the nuns and the five boys entered the dining hall for dinner, Tom and Vincent kept sneaking glances at each other, grinning the entire time. Joseph just rolled his eyes and plopped down in his chair, folding his hands and waiting for the prayer. Once everyone was assembled, they said their prayer and began eating. Tom had to try very hard to not look at Joseph and burst out laughing, so he focused instead on his dinner; pork chops, mashed potatoes, and carrots.

Dinner went surprisingly smoothly and then came the highlight of Tom's evening. Joseph went to stand to leave and he did stand, but the chair came with him. Tom smothered his laughs as Joseph tried to pry the chair off but it stubbornly stayed attached. "What is this?" Joseph growled.

"Joseph? Is there a problem?" the Abbess asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," he said and tried to pull of the chair again, but it didn't work. His face was quickly turning a very bright shade of red. "Bloody chair," Tom heard Joseph hiss. Then Joseph looked at Tom, who just grinned back. "Tom, of course. What did you do?"

"Why are you accusing me?" Tom asked innocently. "It's not my fault you can't get the chair off of your arse." Tom suppressed a chuckle as he watched Joseph struggle with the chair.

"May I be excused?" Joseph asked, looking at the Abbess. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Sister Mary stifled a bit of laughter as Joseph turned even redder.

"Of course." Then, to make Joseph's predicament even worse, the Abbess smiled slightly. "But you may want to remove the chair before you decide to go to sleep."

Joseph didn't say anything and, glaring at Tom, he stalked out of the dining hall, the chair swaying behind him, causing him to stagger. Then it got caught on the door and Tom couldn't hold back his laughter anymore and it burst forth, filling the hall. Finally, Joseph freed himself from the door and they heard the sound of the chair clattering on the stone floor all the way to his room.

"Tom." Tom looked at the Abbess' stern face and his smile disappeared. "Did you do this?"

"Perhaps . . . perhaps I aided the chair in sticking," Tom admitted, for he wasn't about to lie to the Abbess, not with the rest of the nuns looking at him.

"Go to the chapel and pray for this sin." The Abbess shook her head. "I know you love your pranks, but you need to know when to draw the line. Please refrain from gluing any of our chairs." Tom saw a hint of a smile on the Abbess' face and he immediately relaxed.

"Yes, Abbess. May I be excused?" The Abbess nodded and Tom left the dining hall.

* * *

"That was brilliant!" Henry exclaimed, sitting on his bed and looking at Tom with a grin on his face. "You two and your pranks!"

Vincent grinned. "Well, it was the least he deserved."

"Exactly," Tom agreed. "That dirty little snitch got what was coming to him."

"I believe he will not be sitting in any chairs any time soon," Henry said with a laugh. Tom and Vincent joined in.

"Not likely," Tom said.

"You shouldn't have done that," Shawn said quietly. The three boys looked at him and he stared back. "Getting revenge isn't the right thing to do. It's just going to come back to you."

"Oh, come on," Tom said, sighing. "You never like our pranks, but they've never hurt anyone!"

"Maybe not hurt physically, but what about emotionally? You may not think so, but I doubt Joseph would agree with you. Why do you think he hates you two? All you do is play on his emotions!"

"What, are you on his side now?" Tom asked, the grin on his face fading.

"I'm on nobody's side," Shawn said, his face expressionless. "I just don't think that was the right way to go about getting revenge, which is something you shouldn't even do in the first place."

"But he embarrassed us!"

"Does that give you the right to embarrass him so horribly?"

"Yes!"

"I don't agree."

"Well, you don't have to," Tom said, growing angry. "You're always so perfect, aren't you? You just have to be mister 'no, I don't break any rules, because I'm perfect', don't you? Why can't you just let us have some fun? Why do you always have to look on the dark side?"

"Don't get mad, Tom," Shawn said, his face growing worried. He hated it when people argued and he hated to see people mad. "I'm not trying to upset you."

"Well, you failed miserably. Don't talk to me." Tom stood and stalked out.

Shawn looked at Vincent, who shrugged. "Don't look at me," Vincent said. "I don't have any control over his mood swings."

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt him."

"It's okay," Henry said, patting Shawn on the shoulder, who looked up at him. "Tom has a short temper. But don't worry, he'll be fine tomorrow. Don't lose any sleep over it."

Shawn smiled slightly. "I suppose."

"Exactly. That's the spirit," Henry said with a smile. "Now, let's get some sleep, shall we? Plenty of excitement for me, today."

Vincent smiled and the three boys climbed into their respective beds. Vincent stared at the far wall, the shadows playing across it, caused by the light from outside. He wanted to go after Tom, but he knew that when Tom got like this, there was no talking to him. It was like speaking to a brick wall. A _very_ stubborn brick wall. It was always best to let him steam it off. He'd be back to his normal cheerful self the next day. He always was.

Vincent rolled over and closed his eyes, falling asleep. He didn't noticed Joseph coming in later, the chair removed, or in the middle of the night when Tom finally came back and went to sleep.

* * *

By the next afternoon, Tom and Vincent realized something was amiss. Shawn had avoided Tom all day, muttering quick excuses about needing to find something or speak to one of the nuns whenever he had approached him. Henry had likewise steered clear of him, giving a sympathetic glance in his direction when he caught Tom staring at him in confusion.

Joseph had also been acting strangely, alternately glaring at them in anger and smirking at them in triumph. Though he normally would scowl at Tom, Tom had a feeling that there was more behind that smirk that he would flash every once and awhile. Finally, Tom decided to speak to Vincent, who was still talking with Shawn and Henry.

"Vincent, what's going on?" Tom asked, pulling Vincent aside during the afternoon break outside.

Vincent looked at Tom. "What do you mean?"

"With the others. Shawn and Henry refuse to speak to me, and I realize that maybe I got a bit angrier then I meant to last night, but I just have this bad feeling. And then, there's Joseph, who's acting very odd with that smirk that's on his face. I think he's planning something."

Vincent looked at Shawn and Henry, who were tossing a ball back and forth. Then he looked back at Tom. "Well, I'm not sure about Shawn or Henry, but you're probably right about Joseph. After all, we did embarrass him last night and I'm sure he's out for revenge."

Tom snorted. "Joseph couldn't be devious if his life depended on it."

"Well, his pride does depend on it," Vincent pointed out. "And if he really is planning something, he probably let Shawn and Henry in on it."

"He probably blackmailed them or something," Tom said, smirking. "You know he's about as scrupulous as a toad."

"Toads don't have scruples," Vincent said, confused.

"Exactly my point," Tom replied with a grin. "So, we should go and ask Henry and Shawn about this."

They ran over to the other side of the yard, and Tom intercepted the ball as it was heading toward Shawn. Shawn froze and stared at Tom fearfully. Henry just glared and said, "Give that back."

"So," Tom began, ignoring Henry's request. He tossed the ball from hand to hand. "I was curious..."

"About what?" Henry said, not moving an inch.

"Joseph seems a little... off today."

Henry shrugged. "Why would I care?"

"Maybe because you're acting a little off also?"

Shawn glanced furtively back between the two boys. Vincent moved to Tom's side, ready to see what Henry had to say for himself.

Henry just sighed. "He's planning something, you know."

Tom nodded. "What?"

Henry shrugged. "He didn't say anything specific. He just wants us to cover for him if you try to snitch on him."

Tom nodded, and turned to Shawn. "That true?" Shawn nodded quickly. "And you all were just going to go along with this?"

Henry looked unabashed. "Yeah."

"I see," Tom said, and turned to leave. "Come on, Vincent."

Vincent followed Tom over to where Joseph had been watching the conversation with blatant curiosity.

"What have you got planned?" Tom demanded before Vincent could say anything.

Joseph smirked at the two boys. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you sure?"

"Would I lie?" replied Joseph. "It's a shame, though, about the stray."

There was only one stray at the convent. It was a horrid looking tabby that was affectionately called Tawny by the majority of the nuns. Of all the nuns, Sister Tabitha, in particular, had taken a shine to the scruffy creature. Though, Tom was also quite fond of it as well. He was impressed by the cat's low, feline skulk while it tracked small mice and dust mites around the convent.

Tom tried to leap at the smug boy, but Vincent managed to hold him back by one arm. "Wait, Tom," Vincent cautioned, "don't do anything ... rash."

Tom grumbled, but complied with Vincent's wishes after noticing Sister Mary watching them from in the distance. Tom spoke again. "What did you mean, about the cat?"

"You call that mangy stray a cat?" Joseph snorted. "Well, I do suppose that abandoned street trash does tend to stick together. You and that cat are just alike."

Tom glared, and very nearly leapt at the little prat, but he didn't. Instead, he just ground out a single question. "Where is the cat?"

Joseph smirked again, and pointed up at the roof of the convent. "I put the mangy thing in Sister Tabitha's old songbird cage, and put it up there." He grimaced, and held out a hand that had several angry red welts on it. "Cursed thing scratched like it was possessed."

"Possessed with the good sense to not like you," muttered Vincent.

Tom resisted the urge to elbow his very good friend, and glared at the other boy. "How did you get the cat up there?"

"Attic window," Joseph replied.

Vincent snarled under his breath, "You dirty, no good, rotten little brat. It's no wonder your parents didn't want you..."

Luckily, Joseph was too busy chortling to himself over the brilliance of his first dastardly plot that he didn't hear Vincent's words. Tom looked up at the convent's roof. It didn't look all that high up, but Tom knew that appearances could be deceiving. He hissed to Vincent, "I'm going up there. Keep an eye out for the nuns."

Vincent nodded in agreement. Tom set off for the entrance to the convent. Just then, Sister Mary emerged. "Tom! Just the boy I was looking for!"

Tom froze and smiled at Sister Mary. "Good afternoon, Sister. What did you need?" _Should I tell her about the cat? The nuns could get it down and then it would be fine . . . but . . . no, I'll handle this myself. Besides, the cat is in a cage, so it's not like it'll be able to walk somewhere and fall off. It's safe for now and I'll get it later. This is between me and Joseph and I don't need the nuns interfering._

"Come, walk with me," offered Sister Mary, motioning towards the garden. "I wanted to discuss your performance in history. You seem quite interested in the subject."

"I am," Tom agreed, shooting Vincent a desperate look. There was no way he could break free of his conversation without looking horribly rude and ill-mannered. "It's my favorite of the subjects taught here."

"And you're particularly interested in... Great rulers, aren't you? From the Caesars of Rome to barbarians of the likes of Ghengis Khan, correct?"

"Yes," Tom agreed, smiling slightly, and followed Sister Mary into the garden. He took a quick glance back, and noticed that Vincent was nowhere in sight. His smile vanished.

That wasn't a good sign.


	5. The Results of Rage

**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part One: The Awakening**

**Chapter Four**

**- The Results of Rage -**

Vincent looked up towards the sharp peaked roof of the convent, trying to assess how he would climb around once he got up there. At the very top, there was a flat spot where he could glimpse a small fragment of the cage and he could faintly hear the cat yowling. This part of the convent was set far from the regular bustling area. He was standing in a small, weed choked area just north of the chapel portion of the convent. It was no wonder that the nuns hadn't seen him, or even heard the cat yet. The only reason he had found it was that he figured that Joseph would put the cat in an isolated spot.

Vincent slipped through one of the back doors of the convent, and made his way through the convent halls carefully, up stairs and through halls, avoiding anyone that might still be inside until he finally reached the door that led to the attic. He pushed the door open carefully, and started up the dark, dusty stairs.

_Maybe this is a mistake,_ he thought to himself as he looked around the attic after reaching the top. He pushed his fear down, and made his way across the dusty attic, sneezing several times as his footsteps kicked up clouds of dust. He pushed open the window he estimated was on the right side of the convent, and peered out. He could just make out the birdcage holding the cat out of the corner of his eye.

_Tom and I have climbed up onto the roof before, so I'm not completely new to this. And besides,_ Vincent glanced out at the darkening sky, _it looks like a storm is blowing in and that cat will be terrified. I have to get Tawny down before it hits._ At that moment, a few drops of rain hit the windowpane. _This is_ not_ what I needed._

Ignoring the increasing fall of rain, Vincent slowly made his way out the window, gripping it and the pipe that ran alongside the outside of it tightly, watching his footing. He flinched as he felt a splinter of wood from the sill pierce the skin of his palm, but he still climbed out. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he made it to onto the roof. Now came the tricky part. Since the roof was so steep, it was very hard to climb and the only way to do so was to grab a hold of the edges of the shingles. Normally it wasn't too bad, but since it was raining, this was going to be extremely difficult.

Vincent flattened himself against the roof and found his grips, holding on until his knuckles turned white. _Very_ slowly, he crawled further onto the roof, sprawled out. Thunder rumbled and he could hear the cat's cries becoming louder. Pushing down his fear, he forced himself on, determined to save the cat.

* * *

"VINCENT!" Tom yelled, running through the courtyards and around the convent, desperately trying to find his friend. Sister Mary and several other nuns were following him, but Tom didn't care. Once he had realized that Vincent had gone after the cat, he knew he had to get to him, regardless if it got them in trouble.

_Damn you Joseph!_ Tom thought angrily. _Your stupid prank is going to get my best friend hurt!_ "VINCENT!" Tom yelled again, but all he could hear was the howling of the wind and the thunder rumbling overhead. The rain poured down, making visibility slim. Behind him, he could barely hear the nuns calling out Vincent's name as well.

Panic was rising in Tom's chest as he searched and searched to no avail. He had to find Vincent; he didn't know what he would do if anything happened to his best friend.

Vincent, having reached the flat spot on the roof, sat up on his knees and hurriedly opened the cage, taking out the shaking cat. "Shh, it's alright," Vincent soothed, hugging the drenched cat against his chest and looking around for a way down. _How had Joseph gotten Tawny up here in the first place?_ Vincent shook his head and jumped slightly as a loud clap of thunder sounded overhead. _I've got to get down. I'm like a human lightning rod up here._ "It's okay," he whispered, stroking the terrified cat. Thankfully, Tawny wasn't struggling too much and Vincent, having a way with animals, was able to keep her calmer than she normally would have been.

He looked back at the path he had taken to get to the cage, but realized that all the rainwater was draining right down the center of the area he had originally crossed. It would be suicide to try to get across that stream of water, he realized. He would slide right off the roof.

Scanning the rooftop, he spotted a slightly easier route down a bit of a ways down the top of the roof. If he could make it over there, it would be a lot easier coming down, since there was another roof halfway down below the topmost roof. He could even jump, probably. Standing, he began making his way over to the spot, taking it slow as the wind howled around him and the rain beat down heavily.

Reaching the spot, he dropped onto his stomach, hugging the cat to him, and began descending the treacherous roof carefully, concentrating on getting down.

"VINCENT!" a voice broke through the wind. Vincent glanced over his shoulder to see Tom running across the muddy ground, followed by several nuns, all looking up at Vincent. "Stay there! We're coming to get you!"

Vincent shook his head. _It'd be too dangerous if Tom tried to come up here. I'd only be endangering his life too. _Vincent began working his way down and then, it happened.

There was an extremely loud crash of thunder overhead, and simultaneously a strong gust of wind hit Vincent. Startling Tawny, he scrabbled at Vincent and Vincent lost his grip, tumbling backwards into the blackness.

* * *

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. One minute Vincent was up on the roof and Tom was nearly to him and then there was a loud clap of thunder and Tawny panicked. Tom watched in horror as his best friend tumbled from the roof, landing hard on the lower roof below and then tumbling off. Tawny had already leapt off and had run into the shadows.

Tom ran to where his best friend had hit the ground, and stared in horror. He could already see a gash in Vincent's scalp, blood trickling from it and mixing with the rainwater that covered Vincent's face, and then dripping into the mud. Tom fell to his knees next to him, mindless of the cold mud oozing onto his trousers and into his shoes.

"Vincent!" Tom cried, holding his best friend in his arms. Vincent was unconscious; his eyes didn't even flutter as Tom shook at him. Tom looked up at the two roofs, knowing that it was at least ten feet from one roof to the next and Vincent had landed hard on the lower roof. The nuns ran up to him and Tom buried his head in Vincent's jacket. He lifted his head, tears in his eyes.

Vincent was barely breathing and Tom knew that he had to get help quick, or he wlould die. "Tom, we've called the police and they have an ambulance on its way," Sister Mary said softly, crouching down next to Tom. A siren could be heard in the distance, growing louder.

Tom, lost in his thoughts, barely heard her or the siren. He just kept staring at his best friend, anger rising in his chest. He didn't even move as he felt someone take Vincent from his arms and place him in the back of the ambulance. Sitting in the mud, the rain pouring down, Tom just stared after the ambulance as it sped away, the siren softening. _Joseph . . . _That one word rang through Tom's head as his anger surged upward and his hands clenched tightly in the mud. He could feel it oozing between his fingers and he wished that it was Joseph he was squeezing. His lips thinned as his face contorted in a mask of fury. _You're going to pay . . . for what you did to my best friend. You will pay._ His eyes blazed red as he grew angrier and angrier and then he felt a hand on his shoulder and the red vanished. He looked up to see the concerned face of Sister Mary.

"Come in, Tom. We'll go see Vincent. He's going to be fine," she said softly and helped him stand. "The Lord is with him. Don't worry."

Tom took a deep breath, calming the rage that burned within him, but not quenching it. It sat there, hidden and quiet for now, but still burning steadily, ready to leap out at a moment's notice.

He nodded and Sister Mary took a cloak and laid it on Tom's shoulders, leading him inside.

* * *

Tom entered his room, and walked mechanically to his bed. The other boys, save poor Vincent, were already in bed asleep. Sister Mary had talked the Abbess into allowing Tom to go with her to the hospital, and he had regretted it. Seeing his best friend, normally so lively, lying so still on that white sheeted bed had been horrible . . . . . . . . .

Vincent's chest had been rising and falling normally, and the nurse who had checked on him said that he would be fine. That, however, didn't push Tom's fears away. Vincent looked awful. Bruises and scrapes marred visible skin, and a white bandage was wrapped around his head, tufts of pale hair sticking out of the top.

Vincent had let out a groan of pain in his sleep as he tossed suddenly. Tom had stared, then asked, "What's all hurt?"

The nurse had said to him, "Don't worry, dear, he will be fine. Just a bump on the head and some broken bones. As long as infections don't set it, he'll be up and about in a few months."

"Months?" Tom had asked, shocked. A month was eternity! How could it take several months for his friend to mend from something that had only taken minutes to occur?

The nurse had smiled sympathetically. "It takes a while for bones to mend," she explained. "Your friend broke his ankle as well cracking a few ribs. He's lucky, though, none of the ribs pierced anything. So, it'll take a while for the bones to knit themselves back together, then to regain their strength. But, as soon as that happens, he'll be good as new."

"What's wrong with his head?" Tom asked. The white bandages looked like they were for serious injuries.

"He's got a concussion," replied the nurse as she checked Vincent's temperature, and jotted a few numbers down on a sheet of paper that she stuck into a folder at the end of the bed. "I have to finish my rounds now, but trust me. Your friend will recover." She looked at Sister Mary, and motioned for her to follow her into the hall. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course," replied Sister Mary, and followed the kindly nurse into the hall. Tom was left in the large children's room with Vincent and a dozen other beds, some occupied with sleeping children.

"I'm so sorry," he said to his unconscious friend, sitting down on the uncomfortable chair meant for parents. "But don't worry; I'll get that little rat Joseph back for this."

"Look at that boy," he heard a voice say. He glanced over to see a couple standing at the far side of the hospital room. They were looking in his direction.

"Yes, he is a fine looking child," said the woman. The man nodded in agreement, and called to Tom, "What is his name?"

Tom wondered what to do, but figured it wouldn't hurt to answer. "Vincent."

The woman smiled, and whispered something to the man. Vincent moaned in his sleep, and Tom looked down at him to make sure he was alright. When he looked back up, the couple was gone.

He was still staring at the empty spot in the room when Sister Mary spoke. "Are you ready, Tom?"

Tom jumped. He muttered, "Yes," then whispered a farewell to Vincent. Sister Mary said a brief prayer over Vincent, and then they left the hospital. . . . . . . . .

"Tom? Is that you?"

Joseph's voice startled Tom back into the present. He glared at the smaller boy, who was climbing out of bed.

"It's me," Tom confirmed.

Joseph looked at him expectantly. Tom wasn't quite sure what it was that Joseph wanted him to say, so he continued to pull his night clothes out of his small bureau, squinting in the dim light to make sure they matched.

"How's Vincent?" Joseph finally broke down and asked, realizing that Tom wasn't going to volunteer the information.

Tom slammed the bureau drawer shut. "He's in the hospital. How do you think he is?" he asked, his voice filled with anger.

Joseph stepped back as Tom stood up, and moved towards him. Tom towered over him, and he looked mad.

"Hey, I didn't mean for him to get hurt!" Joseph said, trying to defend himself. "I didn't think he would be stupid enough to go up there alone, in the rain, no less."

"Vincent's not stupid!" Tom snapped loudly.

Henry, whose bed was closest to Tom's, grumbled, "Go back to bed!" before pulling his grey blanket back over his head.

Joseph smirked at Tom, knowing that he had gotten to him. "Well, then why did he go up there after that creature, if he isn't stupid?"

"Tawny is not a _creature_, and Vincent is actually a good person, unlike you!"

"At least I have the sense not to go on the roof during a thunderstorm," Joseph shot back. "That fool deserved what he got!"

Tom lunged at Joseph, punching him in the nose. Joseph cried out, and Tom pulled his fist back for another hit. Just then, a knock sounded at the door of the boys' room. "Boys? Are you all in bed?" Sister Mary asked through the heavy wooden door.

"I was just about to," Tom replied, holding his fist in his hand. It hurt. He snuck a look at Joseph. A tiny trickle of blood decorated his upper lip. "You'd better not tell any of the nuns about this," he hissed at Joseph.

Joseph just glared back, and gave a barely perceptible nod.

"I'm going to bed now," Tom said angrily. "I'm not going to waste my time fighting with you."

"Fine," Joseph replied, and returned to his bed. Tom got into his night clothes, said a brief prayer mostly asking for a quick recovery for Vincent, and crawled into his bed, feeling the smooth cotton of the plain white sheets envelop him as he settled in for the night.

_The roof was slippery._

_Tom scurried across its wet surface anyway, heading towards where the cat sat in the songbird cage, squalling over the noise of the storm._

_"Almost there," he muttered. Vincent nodded. He was crawling across the roof beside Tom, and doing a better job of it. At least, he wasn't slipping quite as much. _

_Tom finally reached where the cage with the cat in it was, and opened it. He pulled out the cat, and cuddled it in his arms. "You're okay, Tawny," he assured the cat. "Everything's fine, now."_

_"Yessss," hissed Tawny in his ear. Tom pulled away from the cat only to realize it was no longer a cat. A huge black snake was entwined around his thin arm, wrapped around his body. The snake flicked its tongue at him, and stared at him with ageless emerald eyes. _

_Tom tried to pull away from the snake, but couldn't. It was wrapped around him too firmly. He struggled against its embrace anyway, flinging his arms around. _

_He hit something solid. He looked to see Vincent plummeting off the roof from the force of his arm's contact. "NOOOO!" he yelled, and leapt after his friend. The snake held him back from leaping over the edge of the room, and he could only stare shocked at his friend's crumpled body on the ground below. Dark cloaked figures surrounded Vincent's body, and then looked up at him. They then dropped to the ground in worshipful bows, and a circle of flames licked at their robes. The dark cloaked men soon thankfully faded from view._

_"Vincent!" Tom cried, and then became aware of the fact that the portion of the roof he was seated on was becoming increasingly warmer. He coughed, and realized that smoke was what was obscuring the dark cloaked men from his view._

_"HELP!" he cried. Flames licked at his feet. The convent was in flames, and he could hear screaming coming from below him. _"NOOOO!"

Tom sat up in bed, panting. That dream had been awful! Snakes and Vincent falling and fire and smoke...

He took in a deep breath, and noticed something. The air tasted funny. Kind of acrid, just like smoke. He looked around the room. The air was hazy, just like in his dream...

He crept out of bed, and stood barefoot on the cold hardwood floor, surveying the room. Sleeping bodies filled two of the other beds, the nighttime peace of the room broken at moments by quiet snorts from Henry. Tom looked at the empty beds. One was neatly made, untouched because Vincent was sleeping elsewhere tonight. Tom shuddered to think of how Vincent would feel if he awoke in that awful, sterile room in the middle of the night with no one there to explain what had happened to him.

The other empty bed had its covers shoved down to the foot of the bed, and the pillow lay askew, dangling off the edge of the bed. It looked like Shawn had another nightmare. He had woken Tom and the other boys up on more than one occasion with a bone chilling scream in the dead of night.

Tom coughed, and once again noticed the air quality of the room. It was getting even hazier, and Tom began to feel the slightest bit claustrophobic as the room seemed to shrink as the room became more obscured.

Smoke, he thought. The room is filled with smoke. He hurried across the room, and tried to open the door.

The brass doorknob was not quite hot to the touch, but it was very warm.

He drew his hand away quickly, and yelled to the sleeping boys, "FIRE!"

"What?" There was a thump as Henry fell out of bed. He looked up at Tom in confusion from a rumpled heap of bedclothes on the floor, and repeated his question.

"Fire!" Tom said, panicked. "The convent is on fire!"

"That isn't funny," Joseph said in an uppity manner. "Just because you're mad at me doesn't mean you should pretend like the place is on _fire_."

"It really is!" cried Tom. "Don't you smell the smoke?"

A look of panic appeared on Joseph's face as he took a sniff of the air. "You're telling the truth!" he cried, startled. Henry untangled himself from the covers, and went over to the door with Tom. He too grabbed at the door handle, but drew away as he felt the heat coming off the metal.

"Get a blanket or something, so we can open the door," Tom said, holding out a hand to receive the blanket from Joseph. He used the edge of the plain grey blanket, and turned the doorknob cautiously.

No flames jumped out at them, but smoke plumed into the room, leaving the three young boys coughing violently. Tom leaned over, coughing, and realized that the air was much clearer down near the floor. He yelled at the other two boys to drop, and then said to them, "Okay, we're going to crawl for the closest exit."

Henry and Joseph nodded in agreement, and they crawled into the dark, smoky hall. The hall that had seemed short, and hardly a nuisance to run down to reach his room for his entire life, now seemed endless. They crawled in a line, with Tom leading the way, and Henry flanking Joseph.

Finally, after minutes, hours, years worth of crawling, they reached the front hall. Tom hadn't actually seen any flames in the journey from their room to here, though it was hard to see through his burning eyes and the thick layer of smoke in the air, but now the front door was in sight. Tom stood up, and ran across the smoke filled room, followed closely by Henry and Joseph. The front door was already ajar, and Tom flew past it, into the fresh night air.

The normally peaceful courtyard was in shambles.

A Dennis fire truck had pulled right into the garden, a small planter of petunias crushed under its wheels. Even in the nighttime darkness, its bright red paint gleamed, and its bug like round headlights reflected flames. Firemen were hooking a hose up to it, while others donned gear and headed towards the convent.

Tom, ignoring his burning eyes, glanced back up at the convent, even as he was swept off the steps by a large man wearing a fireman's uniform. Flames licked out the upper floor's windows, casting an eerie light over the courtyard. Tom felt himself being wrapped up in a blanket, and saw Henry and Joseph receiving the same treatment. Suddenly, he realized something. "Shawn!"

"Who?" asked the fireman who was wrapping Tom in a blanket.

"Shawn! He wasn't in his bed! I don't know where he is!" Tom cried, a bit panicked. "Where is he? Did he get out?"

The fireman called over to another fireman who speaking to a nun who looked like the Abbess, though it was hard to tell because she was in her nightgown and robe, and was writing something down in a small notebook. "Have you gotten another kid out of there?"

"There's another kid?" said that man, shocked. He turned, and began to yell out a list of orders to a few firemen who were standing idle.

Tom sat down on the ground near Henry and Joseph where the fireman had led him to wait for the ambulance to arrive, staring at the convent. His home was burning. Loud creaks and groans came from the convent, even louder than the crackling of the flames. Shawn was in there. Shawn, who wouldn't hurt a fly, was inside that smoky, burning building. Sirens sounded shrilly in the distance, but Tom barely heard them. He was too worried about poor Shawn, trapped in the flames and smoke.

After long moments of agony, where Tom prayed and hoped that his friend would escape the burning building, that he wouldn't have to go back to the hospital and see another friend unconscious on a sterile white bed, a figure emerged from the building.

It was a fireman, and he held an unconscious Shawn in his arms.


	6. Moving On

**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part One: The Awakening**

**Chapter Five**

**- Moving on -**

A blur of different shades of green and brown passed by the smudged window as the car drove down an old country road. As the car moved over ridges and valleys in the road, it jumped and rocked its occupants: four somber boys, garbed in the only clothes they had managed to salvage from the fire. Occasionally a blur of light blue sky would peek though the trees, letting through sparkling beams of sunlight. The bright yellow rays warmed the air and the ground, also heating up the inside of the car. The occupants wiped their brows as sweat beaded on already moist skin, shifting uncomfortably in the tiny back seat. Birds chirped their melodies from high in the trees, their mood far different from the anxious and tired faces that could be seen through the windows of the car. The car's engine whined as it carried its passengers to their new home. The boys sat in the back seat of the old Fait taxi, watching their old world slowly start to fade away.

Nothing remained of St. Augustine's, except for a large pile of charred remains and the empty, black shells of the stone walls standing starkly against the sky. The boys as well as the nuns had lost their home. Everything that they cherished had been devoured by the flames. Only a few precious items were salvaged: a few articles of clothing, Shawn's picture of his parents, Vincent's drawing of Sister Mary, and Tom's cross that now hung like a dead weight around his neck. Thank the Lord that no one was harmed seriously during the fire. Shawn had suffered smoke inhalation and a few small burns, but otherwise he recovered nicely, though his arms and hands were still wrapped in bandages.

Abbess Catherine went immediately to work in finding a place for the boys to stay, now that they could no longer stay with the nuns. She had found a boys school and orphanage in Great Hangleton that had plenty of room. It would take some time to rebuild the convent and the sisters didn't feel it was right to keep the boys with them while all this was going on. As much as they cared and loved the boys, this was best for them. They would have a fresh start in a new place and the Lord would be with them in their new journey to watch over them.

They say silence is golden. The silence in the taxi, however was unbearable. Tension gnawed at the car's occupants.

Shawn, with his head hung down low and his hands in his lap, was fiddling with a stray string dangling from his bandages. He had not said a word to anyone since he returned from the hospital. No one knew what he had been doing out of bed the night of the fire, save for Shawn himself.

With his head propped up on his closed fist, Henry watched as the world passed by the car window. His eyes focused on nothing in particular, almost staring blankly out the window.

Joseph was busy re-reading a letter to his parents that he had started to write them as they packed their meager belongings. He wanted to let them know that he would be moving to a new place and that they should forward any letters to the new address.

Eyes closed and his head resting against the cool window, Tom wondered what this orphanage was going to be like. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face, falling to his lap. As the car moved over a large bump, it caused the boys to jostle into each other, making Tom open his eyes. He glanced at the other boys, they looked as tired and worn out as he felt. His eyes moved to the outside again. He wondered what day it was, so many days had passed, he had lost track as the fate of the boys was decided. _Abbess Catherine said that this place is a good school and we are going to a place where we'll be happy,_ Tom thought. _Vincent's still in the hospital…I hope he gets better soon. What's it going to be like here? I heard the Sisters talking about this place. A woman named Mrs. Cole owns and runs it. What are the other boys going to be like?_ Many other questions ran through Tom's mind. But one thing Tom knew for sure: he really missed Vincent. Tom looked down at the crumpled piece of paper clutched in his fist. It was Vincent's drawing, the only thing Tom had other than the cross around his neck.

"We're here," came the voice with a deep Cockney accent. Tom glanced up, his eyes meeting the taxi driver's in the rear-view mirror. Tom looked back out the window, trying to get a glimpse of where they were going. The car turned, crunching over a stone road. Tom saw a wrought-iron gate, allowing them admittance into the entrance of the orphanage. A large, aged iron sign hung on the iron bars, reading, "STOCKWELL ORPHANAGE". The boys maneuvered so that they could all look out the windows, trying to see their new home.

Trees obstructed their view, lining the driveway. The car pulled to a halt and the taxi driver climbed out. "Let's go," he said gruffly. Slowly, but surely, the four boys made their way out of the car, only to stand there, staring up at the orphanage that was now their home.

The blue sky and warm sunshine did little to soften the appearance of the dominating building. The three-story, gray stone-walled orphanage towered above the trees, the dark windows staring at them as though assessing their worth, seeing straight through to their souls. It was an uncomfortable feeling and Shawn immediately looked away, inching closer to Tom. Tom glanced down at the smaller boy and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Joseph and Henry were just as silent, their eyes drawn to double-door entrance where two people stood. It was still to far away to make out much detail in their shadowy appearances.

A clock chimed and Tom looked to the highest peak on the roof, where a large clock face hung. The black wrought irons hands showed it was 1:30 in the afternoon.

"Come along, then," the taxi driver said, shaking them from their thoughts. A cloud moved across the sun, sending shadows streaking across the stone path and the school, giving the school an ominous look. Tom thought the school looked rather like a huge mouth, waiting to swallow them up and never let them return. His fingers moved to the cross that rested against his chest, rubbing the worn metal between his fingers as he followed the driver down the path, the others following close behind.

The sun came out again, but Tom hardly took notice. He was too busy looking at the two people that stood on the front steps, awaiting their arrival. His face revealed nothing as he took in the details of the older woman and a younger girl. The woman appeared to be in her mid-forties and had long black hair that was pulled tightly in a long braid that ran down the center of her back. She had a sharp-featured face and she scanned the four boys with a penetrating gaze. However, that wasn't what made Tom uneasy. There was something about this place, something not quite right.

"Welcome to Stockwell Orphanage. I'm Mrs. Everenst. Mrs. Cole is tending to other matters currently and has asked me to take her place for the moment." she greeted them. "Lissi, pay the driver," she said to the young girl. Tom took the moment to look at the girl, who appeared to be in her teens. She wore a clean, though worn blue dress and an apron, which clung to her thin frame. Her eyes met Tom's and then she hurried away to pay the taxi driver. Tom watched as the driver climbed back into his car, driving down the driveway, leaving only a dust cloud in its wake. "Since you do not have anything, we will provide you with some clothing, but you will use it wisely, as you will not get more." Though Mrs. Everenst's voice was not sharp, it was firm and left no room for argument.

Tom turned back to Mrs. Everenst, watching as Joseph stepped forward. "Mrs. Everenst, do you have a place where I can send my letters?" he asked, clutching the letter he had begun to write.

"Of course. And you are?" she asked.

"Joseph Emerson, sir."

"Well, Joseph, if you do what is asked of you, then you will get to send your letters. Now come, I will show you to your rooms," She ushered the boys into the front parlor. A thin staircase hugged the wall off to the right, the center of the room wide and spacious, though giving off no warmth. A dusty chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, its feeble light doing little to light the room.

A long hall, tiled in white and black, led off deeper into the orphanage but Tom's eyes weren't drawn to the draping curtains or the cold furnishings, but to the faces that had appeared in the doorways on either side of them. Other orphans, Tom noted, taking in their worn clothing and tired faces. Their clothing was either too big or too small for them, clinging to their gaunt frames, though some of the boys were more fleshed out. _At least they're clean,_ Tom thought. _I've read plenty of stories about orphanages and some of them are far worse then this one. This entire place is extremely clean_. He glanced around at the various furnishings, noting that there was not a speck of dust.

"– and you will obey the rules, or suffer the consequences," Mrs. Everenst said sharply, his voice snapping Tom from his thoughts. Tom looked back up at him. "There is no tolerance for misbehavior in my orphanage. You will do well to abide to that."

Henry smirked slightly and nudged Tom. "That means no pranks, Tom."

Tom smiled slightly at this. The truth was, if he didn't have Vincent there, he wasn't much in the mood for playing pranks.

"There will be no talking when we are talking. It is considered rude," she said coolly, her black eyes void of any emotion. "Now come. I will show you to your rooms." She turned and began walking towards the stairs. The boys followed silently, glancing at the other orphans who looked at them curiously. One boy stood out from the others, a tall red-headed, burly fellow that had the makings of a bully. Tom had a feeling he was going to be trouble.

The boys watched with interest. It wasn't every day that new boys came to the orphanage. With the possibility of war looming, unfortunately that would mean more orphans, just like the previous war. The BBC gave limited information on what was happening with Germany but it was only a matter of time before Hitler invaded England. The British government of course said there was nothing to worry about, even after Hitler invaded Rhineland and conquered it. Personally, Tom didn't believe a word of it.

"Tom, I don't like it here," came Shawn's soft voice.

Tom looked down at the smaller boy, who was looking around timidly. He had taken the picture of his parents out of his pocket and now clutched it to his chest. "It'll be alright."

"Are you sure?" Shawn looked up at Tom.

"Of course I am," Tom said, with more confidence than he had at the moment. "I'm not going anywhere." Shawn nodded but Tom could tell he was still nervous.

Tom turned his attentions to his surroundings, taking in the worn wallpaper and the paintings that hung on the wall. As they passed one that was hanging crookedly, Tom reached up and fixed it on impulse. His hand froze as he looked at the painting, captured by the woman who looked back at him. She looked regal and stern, her dark hair piled up on top of her head in a mess of curls. Her dark green dress was tight around her torso and flowed out at the bottom, spilling around the chair that she sat on. A man stood behind her, dressed in a black suit. Tom could only stare at them. Something drew him to the painting, but he couldn't place it.

"Boy!" a sharp voice snapped. Tom blinked and looked to see Mrs. Everenst looking coldly at him. "Don't touch what isn't yours." She then continued to walk up the stairs, telling them of rules that they had to follow, along with the daily labor that they had to do around the orphanage.

"What were you doing back there, Tom?" Henry whispered as they walked.

"I was just fixing it, I don't see what was wrong with that," Tom said, shrugging indifferently.

"Take it to be Tom who gets into trouble straight away," Joseph sneered.

"Shut it, Joseph, before I shut it for you," Henry snapped. Shawn looked between the two boys, feeling the animosity between them sparking through the air. He gulped, not wanting to see a fight break out. It was the last thing they needed at this new place. Who knew what the punishment would be like? Shawn was sure it wouldn't be as simple as praying and doing a bit of cleaning up around the grounds.

"– is there a problem, boys?" Mrs. Everenst looked at them as though they were pests needing to be extinguished.

"No, Mrs. Everenst," Tom said before either boy could speak. Henry simmered, ready to pound Joseph, but then again, Henry had never liked Joseph.

"Good." Mrs. Everenst looked between them and then continued to walk up the stairs.

Tom drew back until he was walking next to Joseph. "Don't start anything," Tom hissed to Joseph, elbowing him slightly.

"I can do what I want," Joseph retorted, glaring at Tom. Tom resisted the urge to snap back, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

"- and you will be sharing a room. Each of you will be responsible for keeping your room clean, the floors and windows washed, and your beds to be in order. The Lord frowns upon slovenly behavior and so do I." Mrs. Everenst led them down a long hall, up another flight of stairs to the third floor, and down a short ways until she stopped before a door, turning to face them. "Lights out is at promptly nine o'clock. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Everyone is to stay in their rooms until the next morning, at which time you will awake at six. You will do your morning chores which will be given to you, then you may eat breakfast. Extra work is given as punishment and if you don't perform your duties to our satisfaction, your eating privileges will be taken from you. Eating with us at the main dining table is a privilege and bad behavior does not merit reward." She opened the door to the room. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go in," she snapped, watching them as they walked past her into the room. "Dinner is at six. If you are not there when we begin, you will not be given dinner. Timeliness is requested and expected." Then she turned on her heel, walking back the way that had just come from.

The four boys looked around the room, which had seen better days. Paint, which looked to have been white at one point, had turned a dingy gray and peeled off the walls. There were four twin-sized beds placed along one of the walls, facing two dingy windows that let scattered afternoon light through, illuminating the dust in the air. The beds were made of old iron tubing and the mattresses were old and stained. They sagged in the metal frames, looking ready to collapse. Even the wooden floor looked like it was ready to break any moment, creaking as they made their way to their respective beds.

"My parents will wish to know of this," Joseph said snobbishly. "Then I'll be moved to a better room. This place is horrid."

"You do that. I bet they'll give you the royal attic," Henry said snidely. He walked over and lay down on his bed. Being the largest out of the four boys, the base of the bed nearly touched the floor with his weight. Tom ignored their bantering and walked over to a table near one of the windows. It had a large crack down the front, the wood worn down in some places. There was a small calendar lying on the desk next to a clock and Tom picked up the calendar. June 3rd, 1936. _These past few days have gone by too quickly._ His eyes fell on the mantel clock. Its stand was a dark brown, the glass face of the clock chipped and worn. Just like everything else around the orphanage. Tom had noticed that there were clocks in every room and though he agreed with things being done on time, the many clocks seemed a bit too redundant. But then again, there were boys that needed to be constantly shepherded, lest they do something unsatisfactory.

Tom set the calendar down and glanced at the other boys around the room. Henry seemed asleep on his bed, Joseph sat on his bed sulking, and Shawn was sitting in a chair by his bed, looking at the picture of his parents. Tom walked towards the door and almost left when Shawn's voice stopped him. "Where are you going?"

Tom turned back to look at Shawn. "Just for a walk."

"Should you leave? Are we allowed?"

Tom shrugged. "Either way, I'm going." He wanted to be light-hearted about this and smile to try and ease Shawn's obvious discomfort. But his thoughts kept returning to Vincent. _Once Vincent comes back, then it'll be okay,_ Tom assured himself. "You can come if you want."

Shawn shook his head. "No, I don't want to get in trouble."

"Suit yourself." Tom turned and walked out of the room, heading down the hall. Padding down the worn red carpet, lost in his thoughts, Tom didn't hear the crying until he nearly tripped over something. Rather, someone, a small blond-haired boy who had curled himself into a fetal position in a corner. Tom frowned slightly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Robbie locked me out of the loo again," the boy sniffed, wiping at his tears as he looked up at Tom.

"There's not just one loo. Why can't you use another one?"

The boy looked confused for a moment. "Because…" but he never finished for at that moment, a loud pealing sound echoed down the hall. The boy quickly stood, brushing off his patched clothing. "Room checking. You should go," he said quickly before running off down the hall.

Tom glanced at the grandfather clock in the hall. 3:00. He began walking again, but instead of heading back to his room, he went to the window. The glass was smudged and scratched, making it difficult to see outside. Using the edge of his sleeve, he wiped a circle in the window but it did little difference. He could see the grounds, the forest beyond but what caught his attention was a dark blue car that sat in a cutoff near the entrance. Curious, he turned, walking down a flight of stairs, through a dark hall lit only by oil lamps and around a corner, stopping when he heard voices.

Peering around the corner, he caught sight of Mrs. Everenst sitting in a large leather chair, speaking to someone but Tom couldn't see them. So he settled to just listen, wondering who the person was.

"– and you're completely right. That man knows what he's talking about," the mystery person said, his voice gruff with a thick accent.

"He'll bring Deutschland back to her former glory," Mrs. Everenst said. "Mark my words. Look at everything that has happened since he's become leader. I will be returning next month, of which I am grateful for. There's only so much the BBC will tell us about what's happening over there, and most of its edited by the government."

Tom didn't hear the mystery man's response for he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. He froze, his heart beating faster. Taking a deep breath and keeping his face calm, he looked up at the owner of the hand. It was the burly, red-haired boy that Tom had noticed when they had arrived. The boy was about 5'6", a few inches taller than Tom, with a acne-scarred face.

"What're you doing down here, snooping?" the boy sneered. "You're supposed to be up in your room. My mum won't like you sneaking around."

"So?" Tom said, shrugging with indifference. _By now, Vincent and I would have pulled a prank or two. Instead, I'm stuck here without anything fun to do_, Tom thought, vaguely hearing the red-head babble on but he didn't care. _Vincent, get better soon._

"Are you listening?" the boy asked angrily, shoving Tom against the wall. Tom winced slightly when his side connected with a small table that hugged the wall nearby. Luckily, the wire-crafted mantel clock that sat on the table didn't fall off, or that would have alerted the adults in the next room.

"That's not very nice. Thought you'd have more manners than that, guess not," Tom jabbed, glaring slightly at the boy.

"I wouldn't expect you to, orphan," the boy sneered. "At least my mother kept me."

That was one particular subject that always got Tom's blood boiling. Quite a few times, Joseph had been on the receiving end of Tom's rages. Tom's gaze narrowed at the boy. "Imagine that," he muttered.

"What was that?" the boy snapped, grabbing the front of Tom's shirt and shoving him up against the wall.

"You keep doing things like that and you'll get what's coming to you," he said darkly, ignoring his chained necklace that was biting painfully into his skin.

"You little –" The glass face on the clock suddenly shattered, the boy let go of Tom, staring at the broken glass.

"Robbie! What are you doing?" someone snapped. The boy, presumably Robbie, spun to face the source of the voice. A tall, middle-aged woman with her light brown hair pulled back in a sharp bun stood just a few feet away. She wiped her hands on her food-stained apron.

Tom rubbed his neck lightly, trying to ease the stinging marks where his chain had bit into his neck. He watched Robbie out of the corner of his eye. He took a moment to catch his breath, his eyes landing on the shattered clock face. _How…first the vases…and now this…_ he thought, confused.

"Um, nothin'," Robbie muttered, looking down.

"You know better than to act that way, especially when your mother has guests. Now go upstairs for your room check. You're not exempt," she said firmly. Robbie glared once more at Tom before sulking away. Tom went to follow him, intending on getting back to his room before Mrs. Everenst caught him. "You. Stop."

Tom sighed. _So much for that plan._ He turned to face the woman, noticing that though her face was lined with age, her eyes were warm. "Yes?"

"What's your name?" she asked, looking down at him.

"Tom. Tom Riddle."

"You must be one of the new children." She smiled a little. "Pay no mind to Robbie. He often bullies the other children, must make him feel special or somethin'." She glanced at the clock on the table. "It's nearly four o'clock, you'll have missed your room check. No sense in you goin' up there and gettin' in trouble. I should think you're hungry?"

Tom shrugged. "We're not allowed snacks."

"Pish posh. You need somethin' to fill out that willowy body of yours. Follow me, Tom, and have a biscuit." She motioned for him to follow her as she headed down the hall. Tom glanced at the staircase but then followed her into the kitchen.

The room itself wasn't that impressive but it looked newer than the rest of the orphanage. The walls were papered with faded flowered print, the wooden counters were clean, and even the window above the sink was cleaner than most. The sun's rays filtering through the old window, illuminating the main part of the kitchen and the cast iron stove. Off to one side was a large rectangular table, on top of which was a plate of cookies. Hanging on the wall above the table was a clock set in a wire cross.

Tom noted the smell of chocolate wafting from the oven and smiled a little. Chocolate chip cookies were a weakness of his and Sister Mary loved to bake. She always gave the boys cookies for their birthdays and for rewards when they did well in their school work. She once made fudge for Tom when he didn't get into trouble for an entire day.

"Freshly baked," the woman said, smiling as she pulled on oven mitts and removed the tray of cookies from the oven. She set them on the counter to let them cool before turning to face Tom. "Why don't you help me wash up."

Tom nodded, walking over and taking a rag from the edge of the sink. He ran soapy water into the basin and began washing up the dishes in the sink.

"My name is Louise," she said as she took the tray of cookies over to the table, scooping them out onto the large plate. "I'm the cook for the orphanage, if you couldn't tell." She smiled. "Imagine trying to cook for thirty boys, plus the adults." She laughed. "It's quite a chore, but I enjoy it."

"How long have you been here?" Tom asked as he washed the dishes.

"Let's see…twenty five years. I came here when I was eighteen, lookin' for a job. How old are you, Tom?"

"Eight and a half." He finished up the last of the dishes and wiped his hands on a towel before turning to look at Louise.

Louise walked over, coming to a stop in front of Tom. "Here." She held out a cookie to him, smiling. "Chocolate always makes me feel better."

Tom looked up at her and smiled a little. "Thank you." He took the cookie, biting into it and savoring the warm chocolate. It was the first thing he had eaten in about a day, maybe longer. He didn't remember. It was heaven to taste though. "This is really good." He finished the cookie, wiping his face with a rag.

Louise looked very happy at his comment. "I'm glad you think so." She wiped her hands on her apron, still looking at him. "Anytime you want, come and visit. You can't get in trouble if you're in here with me. Besides, I need a taste tester."

Tom actually smiled at this. "I'd like that." _Maybe this place won't be that bad after all,_ he thought.

"Good. Now run along. I'll make sure Mrs. Everenst knows that you were in here helpin' me." Louise winked and then walked over to a cupboard, pulling out various pots and pans, along with ingredients for supper. "Supper will be ready soon. Hopefully that biscuit will tide you over."

Tom nodded. "Thank you again. Can I take a few with me to my friends?"

"Of course, dear." Louise turned her back to him, bustling about the kitchen, preparing for dinner.

Tom walked over to the table, placed a few cookies in a cloth napkin, and left the kitchen. He headed up the stairs and back to his room.

Joseph was no where to be seen. Henry had found a ratty ball and was lying on his back on his bed, tossing the ball up into the air. Shawn was sitting in a corner, his knees hugged to his chest, his chin resting on top of his knees

"So what did I miss?" Tom asked.

Henry looked over at him, pausing his throwing. "Mrs. Everenst came, she was pretty angry that you weren't here. Where were you anyway?"

"In the kitchen." He grinned, closing the door and then walked over to Henry. "Got these for us." He opened the cloth, offering the chocolate chip cookies to Henry

Henry immediately sat up, ball forgotten. "Blimey! Biscuts!"

"Hush before you get us in trouble," Tom laughed.

Henry took a cookie, stuffing it into his mouth. "This is bloody brilliant!" he exclaimed while chewing.

"Eat then talk," Tom said, still laughing. He walked over to Shawn, crouching down in front of him. "Here." He offered Shawn a cookie.

Shawn looked up, his eyes red and puffy from crying. "No thanks."

"Chocolate cheers people up. Try it." Tom waited, patiently.

Finally, Shawn took the cookie, nibbling. "Thanks," he said quietly, looking back down at his lap.

"Welcome." Tom smiled and stood, walking back over to where Henry was sitting. "What happened to Shawn?" he asked quietly.

Henry looked up at Tom, swallowing the last bit of his cookie. He wiped his mouth with his hand. "Joseph was picking on him. I told him to get lost and Joseph just glared and walked out." Henry shrugged. "I don't know where he went."

Tom nodded. "Alright." He turned away

"Can I have another?" Henry grinned.

"You already had one."

"So?"

"There's only two left."

"So one for me and one more for me," Henry laughed.

Tom chuckled. "No, Henry." He left the room, walking down the hall. He heard a scuffling sound and paused outside a closed door. He knocked. "Hello?"

"Go away." It was Joseph's voice.

"What are you doing in the closet?"

"None of your business," Joseph snapped.

"It's a simple question."

"I don't have to answer."

Tom sighed. "Just open the door, Joseph."

"I don't want to."

"Then I will."

"No you won't."

Tom tried the door but it wouldn't open. "Unlock the door, Joseph."

"Why should I."

"You'll get in trouble."

"You don't know that."

"Joseph." Tom was a patient person but only for so long. It was silent. "Joseph, just open the door."

It was silent for a few minutes and then Tom heard a clicking sound. Tom carefully opened the door, looking down at Joseph, who sat in a corner, his letter in his lap. The closet itself was bare and for a smaller boy like Joseph, there was just enough room for him to sit on the floor.

"I brought this for you." Tom held out the cloth holding the last two cookies.

"What'd you do, nick them?" Joseph glared. Tom didn't answer, just keeping his hand held out to Joseph. Finally, Joseph took one of the cookies.

"You're welcome."

Joseph was silent for a few moments. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Tom nodded and went to leave. "None of us will bother you about writing your letters in the room. I'll make sure of it."

"I didn't ask for your help," Joseph said coldly, but there wasn't the usual bite in his voice.

"By the way," Tom paused, looking back at Joseph. "If you touch Shawn again, or if you pull something like what you did with Vincent, you'll wish you were the one that fell off that roof. Because the only way you'd be safe from me is if you were in the hospital. And even then, I wouldn't be so sure."

Tom closed the door, heading back to his room.


	7. Fall Changes

**_A/N: _**_Here you go, as the canon begins to take over from my interesting beginnings. Enjoy! And please review_

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**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part One: The Awakening**

**Chapter Six**

**- Fall Changes -**

The next few months would bring about several changes that would influence Tom's future, even if he didn't realize it at those moments. Perhaps, if these events did not occur, then Tom would have turned out very different, or, he might not have changed. However, fate has a nasty way of doing what it wants, no matter how much one could try to get around it.

As the war continued on the mainland, more and more orphans were bringing brought to the orphanages. Even Stockwell Orphanage, once a boys orphanage, now housed several girls. Tom had settled into the daily routine and though Mrs. Everenst was strict, he paid her no heed. In the public eye, he seemingly followed the rules, but that didn't mean he wasn't pulling pranks in the background with Vincent. Thankfully, Vincent had been brought to the orphanage after staying in the hospital. He recovered fully and was mostly back to his usual self, however, there seemed to be something different that Tom couldn't quite place.

August came with heavy rains and cooler temperatures. The leaves on the trees had turned dazzling shades of red, yellow, and brown, covering the country-side in a fall rainbow. It was very beautiful and Tom stayed outside as much as he could. Joseph was as ill-tempered as always, Henry took care of Shawn, and Vincent and Tom remained inseparable.

On a particularly cold afternoon, Tom was sitting outside beneath a tree, a book propped up against his upraised knees. A group of boys, including Robbie and one of his friends, Billy Stubbs, were gathered around an old, metal swing-set. The metal joints creaked in the light, crisp wind and several leaves fell through the air, landing on the grass-covered ground. Tom flipped a page in his book, however he wasn't paying attention. Instead, he was listening to the group of boys.

" – would get in so much trouble," Robbie was snickering.

"Do you think we could pull it off?" asked Billy.

"It'd be easy. Shawn's such a mouse. Seems a bit daft if you ask me. He'd do it."

Tom's gaze narrowed as he heard Shawn's name mentioned. _If he thinks he can try anything, he'll be in for a nasty surprise._

"What about Louise?" asked another. "Shawn is always around her and you know she won't let us get away with anything."

Robbie sneered. "She won't be around much longer to worry about it." Their voices lowered and Tom strained to hear what they were saying. Finally, he stood, tucking his book under his arm and walked briskly towards the backdoor.

"Oh look at who it is," said Robbie, still sneering. "Riddle, perfect boy who likes sneaking around. All those biscuits you're always hiding away and your little toys, my mum won't like that."

Tom stopped, turning to look at Robbie. He gaze was level and cold, a look he had found that worked for him when he didn't want anyone to know what he felt inside. "Try and prove it."

Robbie just smirked, crossing his beefy arms over his chest. Billy, who was the complete opposite of Robbie in looks, was smirking next to him. In his arms was his tan rabbit that he always carried around. "That's not that hard to do," said Billy.

"Oh really? I thought that you'd have to have a brain first." Tom turned, heading back towards the backdoor. Robbie moved quickly to intercept him. "Get out of my way."

"No." Robbie threw a punch, which landed hard with the side of Tom's face.

He hit the ground, his head banging into the cold earth, sending waves of pain crashing through his head. He blinked black spots out of his eyes and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "You'll regret that," he said, his voice low.

Robbie and his friends just laughed. Tom stood, his gaze dangerous, and something flickered in Robbie's gaze. It could have been a flash of fear but at this moment, Tom was only focused on getting back at Robbie. "I warned you," he said.

At that moment, Shawn came running outside, skidding to a stop upon seeing Tom facing the orphanage bullies. His eyes went wide but he didn't speak. Tom and Louise were the only two that Shawn spoke around anymore. Robbie glanced over and snapped, "Scat, mouse." Shawn let out a squeak and went to run, but tripped over the laces of his trainers. He fell to the ground with a crash, which evoked laughter from Robbie and his friends. The tallest of the gang, Michael, walked over and picked up Shawn by the front of his shirt. "Aw, look, he's scared," sneered Michael.

"Leave him alone," snapped Tom.

The boys turned their gazes towards him. "Or what?" taunted Billy.

Tom didn't really know what would happen or what he could do, but he wasn't about to let the gang know that. "You'll be hurt," was all he said.

"And you think you can do that?" snickered Michael. Suddenly he let out a scream of pain, dropping Shawn quickly. Covering his arms were thick, red welts, as if he had just been burned. Robbie and the others stared, looked at Tom, looked back at the welts, obvious confusion and a bit of fight in their gazes.

"Let's get out of here," said Robbie, glancing once at Tom, at Shawn, and then moving away quickly, taking Michael inside.

Tom bent down, picking up his book that had fallen to the ground, and walked over to Shawn. "Are you alright?" He held out a hand to help Shawn to his feet.

"Thanks," said Shawn quietly.

"Weren't you with Henry and Vincent?"

"I was, but well –" Shawn poked the ground with the toe of his trainer, moving around the dirt.

"Let's go inside." Tom put a hand on Shawn's back, leading him inside. They passed by the kitchen, where Louise was bustling about, preparing dinner.

"Oi! Tom!" she called. They turned to see her standing by the stove with a smile on her face. "We're having your favorite soup. Want to test it out?"

Tom looked at Shawn, who nodded eagerly. He smiled slightly and they entered the spotless kitchen. "That's what I'm here for, taste-testing," said Tom.

Louise laughed. "As long as Mrs. Everenst doesn't see, we ain't got anythin' to worry 'bout." She poured a little of the soup into two small mugs, handing them to Tom and Shawn. They accepted them with thanks, taking sips of the hot soup. It was delicious and spicy, running down his throat and Tom savored the flavor.

"Mmm, brilliant." Tom smiled. Louise was one of the few adults that he liked and he knew that without Vincent, Shawn or Louise, this orphanage would have been unbearable.

They finished their soup, putting the mugs in the sink. "Make sure you're on time for dinner," said Louise. "Mrs. Everenst doesn't want anyone to be late."

"Is Mrs. Cole going to be eating with us?" asked Tom.

"Aye. She will. Best behavior."

"Always."

Louise chuckled. "No pranks tonight, Tom."

He gave her an innocent look. "Me? Prank? Never."

This evoked another laugh from Louise. "Yes, yes. Now shoo." She ushered them out and they headed upstairs.

"I like her," said Shawn quietly.

"She's nice. So long as she doesn't tell me what to do," said Tom. They entered their room and Tom walked over to where Vincent was sitting on his bed. "Mrs. Cole is eating dinner with us tonight," he said, taking a seat next to Vincent.

Vincent looked over at Tom and grinned. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"A bit of payback," smirked Tom. "Joseph snitched on my stash of biscuits and he got Shawn blamed for the mess in the foyer the other day." However, even with his planning, his mind was still on what had happened to Michael. _How did that happen? I don't understand it. He deserved it, but still…_

Vincent nodded. "What do you want to do?"

Tom glanced at Henry, who was kneeling in front of his wardrobe, rifling through the bottom. Shawn had resumed his place of sitting on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest. He looked back at Vincent and smirked as he thought of something. He whispered his plan to Vincent, who nodded, chuckling. "Let's go." He led Vincent out of the room.

* * *

That evening, during dinner, Tom and Vincent sat innocently at their usual spots near the end of the long table. Several tables had been set up to accommodate all the children and a head table for Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Everenst. Mrs. Everenst always finished her food quickly so that she could walk along the aisles and make sure no one was fooling around. 

Joseph and Robbie entered the dining hall, carrying the plates for Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Everenst. As they set down the plates, their backs were to the rest of the room. Laughter erupted from the children and Tom and Vincent smirked at each other. Sewn to the backs of Joseph and Robbie's jumpers were select undergarments. They were clumsily sown, as Tom nor Vincent knew exactly how to sew, but it suited their purpose.

Mrs. Everenst looked around the room, her gaze narrowed. "What are you laughing about?" she said sharply.

Mrs. Cole, a tall woman with sharp features, but a kinder smile, looked genuinely confused. "What's going on? Tom?"

Tom kept his gaze completely innocent. "I think there's something on their jumpers, Mrs. Cole. I heard them talking about doing something funny at dinner."

Mrs. Everenst stood, moving around the table to glare at the two boys. "Is that true? You decided to have a little fun, did you?"

It took all Tom's efforts to not burst out with laughter. As far as the grownups knew, he was the model boy, never doing anything wrong. However, he knew that beneath their gazes, they didn't know exactly what to make of him.

Vincent was struggling more than Tom and finally had to bend down, pretending to tie his trainers, in an effort to hide his laughter.

Joseph and Robbie, not having any idea of what was on their backs, just stared at Mrs. Everenst blankly. "Mum, I didn't do anything," protested Robbie. His face was beginning to flush with red.

"Mrs. Everenst, we didn't do anything, honest," said Joseph.

"I don't call this nothing," she snapped, turning them roughly to look at each other's backs. "You think this is funny?"

Both of their faces turned beet red and they began stammering. "I – I –"

"Both of you, to the Yellow Room now," she said angrily. "No supper tonight. Go." She grabbed them by their ears and hauled them, still protesting, out of the room. The room was deathly silent as everyone stared after them.

Mrs. Cole just shook her head. "Children, eat your dinner and make sure your room are clean. We'll be doing an inspection later."

There were a few quiet snickers, but everyone ate their dinner in silence, as there were expected to. "That was brilliant!" whispered Amy Benson, who was sitting next to Tom. "I wonder who did it!"

Dennis Bishop, a small, blond-haired boy, who was always being picked in by Robbie, was actually smiling. "I wouldn't want to be him!" he whispered.

Henry and Tom's gazes met and Henry snickered, knowing that Tom had been behind it. "Nice job," he mouthed.

Tom and Vincent merely smirked and ate their dinner.

* * *

The next evening, Tom snuck into the kitchen and was about to nick two sandwiches when he heard angry voices from down the far corridor. Deciding to investigate, the sandwiches forgotten, he followed the voices until he could hear them clearly. 

" – last straw." Tom recognized it as Mrs. Everenst's voice.

"But ma'am, I didn't do anythin'." That was Louise.

Tom frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. _What's going on? What did Louise do?_

"Louise, we just can't have that sort of influence around the children," came Mrs. Cole's voice. Tom could tell by the sound of her voice that she was trying to be kind. "They're so impressionable at this age."

"Mrs. Cole, please, I didn't do it! You know I wouldn't!"

"It seems we were very wrong, and the measures have been taken," said Mrs. Evernst coldly. "You were warned before what would happen again if something went missing. Now all the candelabras are gone from the dining room. Collect your things and out you go."

"But I don't have anywhere to go, ma'am!"

"Then you should have thought twice before nicking the tapestries, the two clocks, and now the candelabras. Goodbye, Ms. Riensz."

Louise came bursting out of the room and Tom snapped up against the wall, but she didn't see him. She was sobbing, her face in her hands as she ran down the corridor. _But she wouldn't…would she?_ He made his way back towards his room, not wanting to be caught after lights out. A terrible feeling washed over him as he realized that Louise wasn't coming back. However, as quickly as the feeling of sadness washed over him, it was replaced by a need for revenge. He believed that Louise hadn't stolen anything and he was determined to find out who did and make them pay.

The sound of shattering glass made him jump, spinning around, his heart pounding. The glass of three portraits on the walls had suddenly snapped, littering the carpeted corridor with glittering shards of broken glass. His eyes widened. _How…_He turned and ran.

* * *

It wouldn't be until a fortnight later that Tom would discover who had been stealing the items. Without Louise, the orphanage seemed darker and not has happy as it once had been. A new, older lady, had replaced Louise, and she didn't allow for any taste-testing. 

The news spread like wildfire around the orphanage about the thief. Robbie and his friends seemed particularly happy that she was gone and Tom knew that it was because Louise had never let them get away with anything. After the dinner incident, Robbie and Joseph seemed to be on a streak of vengeance, always trying to get Tom framed for anything. It always backfired and more often than not, Joseph got punished.

Tom didn't feel any remorse about that. The slimy gits deserved what they got, in his mind. However, he had other things planned.

The day was warm for September, when two visitors arrived. They were garbed in fancy suits, a man and a woman, and appeared to be very kind. Tom and Vincent were upstairs, plotting their next prank, when Mrs. Cole entered.

"Vincent? Shawn? Come with me please," she said with a small smile.

Vincent and Tom looked at each other, confused. "Mrs. Cole?" asked Vincent. "Did we do something wrong?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. Come along."

Shawn climbed off his bed, where he had been playing with a yo-yo of Tom's. Well, a yo-yo that Tom had taken from Martha Rechins, a girl that had annoyed him one day with that yo-yo. She had followed him around for hours and he had finally had enough. He had taught her a lesson, one that she still hadn't forgotten, and he kept the yo-yo.

Vincent and Shawn followed Mrs. Cole out, glancing back at Tom. Once they left, Tom looked at Henry. "What do you suppose is going on?"

Henry tossed his ratty ball up into the air, catching it. He was leaning against his headrest, one leg tucked under the other. "Why don't you go find out? You're good at that," he smirked.

"I think I just might." Tom stood, slipping out of the room and moving silently downstairs. He heard voices in the sitting room and peeked around the doorframe. Inside, he saw a man and a woman sitting on the couch, their faces kind and their clothes elegant. The woman had light brown hair that hung in loose waves around her angular face. The man had slightly darker hair and a trimmed beard, his eye sparkling.

Tom frowned. They looked familiar…

" – and you're how old, Vincent?" asked the woman with a soft smile.

"Eight, ma'am. I'll be nine in three days."

"A good age!" the man chuckled. "Coming into an important stage in his life, he is."

When the man spoke, something clicked inside Tom's head and he remembered where he had seen the two strangers before. They had been in the hospital, when Sister Mary had taken Tom to see Vincent. _But why are they here?_ he wondered.

"And what about you, son?" asked the man, smiling at Shawn.

Shawn looked at the ground, his cheeks flushed. "He doesn't talk very much, sir," said Vincent. "He lost his parents when he was little and barely survived a fire earlier this summer."

"Oh the poor boy," said the woman, looking horrified.

Tom looked at Vincent and Shawn, who were standing in front of the adults, and then to Mrs. Cole, who was sitting in an armchair beside the strangers.

"Shawn is eight as well," said Mrs. Cole. "He's a sweet boy but very quiet."

"He seems like it," said the woman, smiling.

"Do you live close?" asked Vincent curiously.

The man laughed. "Oh close enough, m'boy."

"Where?"

"Such a curious child."

"Yes, Vincent is known for his curiosity," said Mrs. Cole with a smile. "Mr. McErith, if you'd like to come with me, I just have a few matters to discuss. Your wife is more than welcome to stay with the boys."

"Of course. Love, don't overdo the hugs," Mr. McErith teased.

The woman, his wife, laughed. "I'll try my hardest."

Tom's gaze narrowed. There was something about them and his stomach was twisting up in knots. He slid into the shadows as Mrs. Cole and Mr. McErith walked out of the room, heading for her office. Tom decided to follow, moving silently behind them. He wasn't in the mood to see Vincent and Shawn be coddled by Mrs. McErith.

Tom watched as the adults went into Mrs. Cole's office and he entered the room next to it. The room he was in was a small study, with shelves of books, a worn, oak table, and a dark blue rug. The windows let in the light, revealing a few dust mites in the air. Tom walked over to an overstuffed arm chair and pushed the chair to the side. There was a grate in the wall that connected to Mrs. Cole's office and a place where Tom had found he could listen in. He took a seat behind one of the bookshelves.

"Would you like anything to drink, Mr. McErith?" he heard Mrs. Cole's voice waft through the grate.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

"Now where did you say you worked?"

"We work for the Ministry. Government officials, that sort."

"Sounds interesting enough. What do you do?"

Mr. McErith chuckled. "Well now, Mrs. Cole, if I told you, it wouldn't be secret now would it."

There was a rustling of papers and a clink of a glass. "No, I suppose not. I see here, on your papers, that you live just outside Great Hangleton. This is a very beautiful place that you have, Mr. McErith."

"Thank you, Mrs. Cole. The manor has been passed down through my family. Now, to the subject of Vincent and Shawn."

"Yes, of course. There would be the necessary paperwork to fill out, if you decide to take them."

"I believe that we both know that my wife and I would love to have both of them. We saw Vincent when he was in the hospital and had spoken with the Sister there. They are wonderful boys and they deserve a good family."

Time seemed to freeze as Tom's heart caught in his chest. His gaze snapped to the grate, feeling a rushing in his ears. He didn't even realize how tightly he was clenching his long fingers into a fist. His nails dug into his skin but it was a dull pain. _Family? Have both of them? Surely…_

"Well, Mr. McErith. I've spoken with you and your wife on several occasions already, as I know you're looking to adopt. You couldn't have picked two better children then these two. However, Shawn is so withdrawn, are you sure that he is one you would pick?"

"He just needs someone to care for him."

"No! He has me!" snapped Tom and he clapped his hand over his mouth, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Did you hear something?" asked Mr. McErith.

There was a pause and the silence seemed to extend forever. Finally, Mrs. Cole spoke. "This manor is so old; we hear sounds all the time. Pay them no mind. Now, to the paperwork."

"Of course."

Tom sat there, behind the bookshelf, seething. He didn't know how long he was there and didn't remember how he made it back to his room, slamming the door shut.

* * *

Tom watched from the window as the car drove away, with the McEriths, and the only two people Tom cared about: Vincent and Shawn. His long fingers gripped the windowsill, his face impassive and cold. Inside, he was furious and hurt, among many other emotions. They had just left. Just like that. They didn't even think about the fact that they were leaving him. 

When they had come up to the room, excited, Tom ignored them. Vincent tried to talk to him and he shoved him into the wardrobe before going to his post by the window. Shawn had tried to say something to him, but Tom had ignored him.

A spider crawling across the windowsill by Tom's fingers caught his attention and he glared at it. He watched as it writhed and then curled up into a ball. He turned his gaze to a flock of birds flying across the treetops. A part of him wanted to see them crash into the building. _They don't deserve to live. They're free. I'm not._ He turned away from the window, not seeing the birds fly to their doom. It wouldn't even register with him that he had just commanded the birds to commit suicide and they had.

He saw Vincent's drawing lying on his bed, something that Vincent had wanted him to keep. He picked it up and then crumpled it into a ball, throwing it in the trash. He had never felt so alone in his life and wanting nothing reminding him of Vincent or Shawn. The pain was incredible and he hated it. It made him feel weak and he felt as if someone would try to use that to their advantage. Well, he wouldn't let them. He didn't need anyone. They all left. His mother had died, his father had never shown up for him, Louise left, and now Vincent and Shawn had gone.

Well, he's show them. He'd make them regret the day that they walked out on him.


	8. The Dark Side of Nature

**_A/N:_**_ I will warn you ahead of time. This chapter is disturbing and there are a few not so nice occurences. _

_There's a certain side of Tom, other than the cruelty and nastiness. Despair...loneliness...the feeling that you have no one at all, who wouldn't change?_

_Dumbledore himself even said it still surprised him out Harry turned out, despite his upbringing._

_Tom had a rough childhood, if that can even begin to describe it. And unfortunately, he took the darker path._

_Let me know what you think! _

_Also, you'll see a wizarding person in this chapter, let's see if you catch it:D _**_  
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**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part One: The Awakening**

**Chapter Seven**

**-The Dark Side of Nature -**

"I wish I had been there. The look on Louise's face, brilliant."

"She deserved to go," came Michael's voice.

"Always grassing on us. Got us in trouble with your mum," said Billy.

"Did you hear, though? They got rid of the mouse. He found a family!" proclaimed Robbie.

"What? How come he gets a family?" asked another boy.

"Him and the other kid, Vinni or something," responded Billy.

Someone snickered. "That means little baby Riddle is all on his own," said Michael.

"You're leaving next week, aren't you Robbie?" said the other boy.

"Yeah, we're finally going back home. That means the rest of you lot have to have fun with Riddle for me," responded Robbie.

More snickers could be heard. "I think we'll manage. We have that trip in a fortnight," said Michael.

Tom remained where he sat, his back against a large stone, his body hidden in shadows from the trees. He had found this secluded area earlier that day and discovered that it was the perfect hiding spot. Mrs. Cole had taken the children out into the country and found a small park where there was a swing-set, two sandboxes, and a few picnic tables scattered across the grassy lawn. Framing the northern part of the park was a small forest, in which Tom preferred to spend his time.

He glanced down at his clothes, which were already beginning to grow short. It seemed that the past few weeks had given him a slight growth spurt, allowing him to gain a few inches on the other children. He was already tall for his age and would be nine years old come December. Over the course of the past few years, he had been told several times that he was far more mature than most soon-to-be nine year olds, and he agreed. He never wanted to be equal to anyone. He wanted to be far above them, in everything.

However, upon hearing what Robbie and his gang were saying, his fingers clenched into fists. _So it was them,_ he thought. _They're the ones that made Louise leave._ He could act now, make them pay. It seemed that if he really wanted to hurt someone, they always ended up in pain. He would get Robbie. That much was for certain. As for the others, he would bide his time wisely and plan accordingly.

"_If they poke me once more I'm going to bite them,"_

Tom blinked, looking around upon hearing the voice. "Stop poking it!" protested a girl. Tom peered around the edge of the rock to see Amy standing a few feet away, staring at something on the ground. Rudolph, a twelve-year old boy, was crouching on the ground, poking at something with a stick.

Tom frowned, curious, and stood. He glanced over at Robbie and his gang, who had moved over to another part of the park, deciding that some of the younger orphans were more interesting. Moving swiftly, he walked over to where Amy and Rudolph were. "What are you doing?" he asked, shoving his hands inside his pockets.

"Found it." Rudolph grinned. Tom looked down to see a light gray snake with a black zigzagging pattern on its back. _An adder…I remember reading about those._

"It's poisonous."

The grin faded from Rudolph's face and he stared down at the snake. "It is?"

"I read about it in a book."

"See!" said Amy. "I told you to stop! You're going to get bitten!"

"_Quite right you are,_" came the voice again. Tom frowned. _That wasn't Rudolph or Amy…who was it?_

"Why don't you just leave it alone?" asked Tom.

"There's nothing to do around here," said Rudolph. "I was just having a bit of fun." He stood, smoothing his gray trousers and tossing the stick aside. "I'm going to go find Dennis." He pulled out a worn mouth organ from his pocket and walked away, playing on it.

Tom's gaze followed his retreat for a few moments before looking at Amy, who was still staring at the snake. "It's not going to hurt you unless you poke it."

"I – well –" The snake moved towards her feet and she shrieked, running away.

Tom just shook his head. "What's so scary?" He looked down at the snake, watching as it slid its way through the browning grass. "You're going to get stepped on if you stay out here." He reached down and picked up the snake gently. He half expected it to hiss and snap at him, but it only lifted its head slowly to peer at him. He felt no fear, only curiosity.

"_Thanksss._" There it was again!

Tom looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.

"_I'm right here. In front of you._"

Slowly, Tom's eyes moved to the snake and he could only stare. "You?"

"_You are correct._"

"Wait, how can you understand me? Or I understand you?"

"_You are sspecial. I don't find many humansss that can ssspeak to me or hear me. What is your name?"_

"Tom Riddle."

"_Well Tom, itsss a pleasssure to meet you."_

"Do you have a name?"

"_No, but I don't need a name. Take me to that rock over there,_" the snake hissed, moving its head towards the rock where Tom had been sitting. Tom complied, walking over to spot and setting the snake down.

"Will I see you around?"

"_Perhapsss._" The snake slithered down through a crack, disappearing into the darkness.

For a few moments, Tom could only watch the space where the snake had gone. Then a rush of excitement filled his body and he actually smiled. However, this smile did nothing to aide his handsome features, as it had an almost wicked tinge to it. _I knew there was something different about me…why else would all those strange things always happen around me? The clock breaking…the pictures shattering…the burns on Michael's arms…I still don't understand why, but I can talk to snakes! Wicked!_

_

* * *

_  
Tom sat in a chair, watching as the other children played in the swimming pool. The pool wasn't very large, but it was indoors and therefore warmer than outside. The room had an arched ceiling and several long, thin gothic windows on the far wall, allowing beams of sunlight to shine in, illuminating patches of the worn tile floor and the water. Several chairs had been set along one side, near the wall, to accommodate the children that didn't want to swim, as well as the adults.

He watched as a couple of the older orphans lined up at the base of the low diving board. One boy climbed up and did a somersault off the end, landing with a loud splash and accompanied by cheers from the nearby crowd. Tom settled back in his chair, draping his long legs over one of the arms. _What's so interesting about splashing around anyways,_ he thought. Of course, part of the reason why he didn't want to enter the water was that he couldn't swim. He just had never learned how. It was a weakness, yes, and one he didn't plan on allowing anyone to discover.

His gaze wandered over to where Robbie stood with his gang, probably attempting to plot something. Tom was biding his time until he could get them back for making Louise leave. Robbie was due to leave within the week, to go back to his home country with his mother. He watched as Robbie turned, his beady eyes landing on Tom. He sneered, the sunlight glinting off his mop of red hair. He strode over, attempting to be intimidated. He was failing miserably.

Tom just looked at him coolly. "Yes?"

"Why ain't you swimming?" asked Robbie, his beefy arms crossed over his chest. Terrace, Michael and Billy stood around him, all smirking.

"None of your business." Tom gave him a bored look and turned his gaze onto the girl climbing up onto the diving board.

"Oi! You can't just ignore me!" protested Robbie.

Tom didn't answer, which seemed to infuriate the red-head even more. Meaty hands gripped his shirt and Tom was suddenly jerked out of his chair. He staggered back, freeing himself from Robbie's grasp. "Don't touch me," he snapped.

"Oooh, what're you going to do about it if I do?" taunted Robbie.

Tom brushed his shirt off and turned to walk back to his chair, but Michael was blocking his way. "Where do you think you're going?" sneered Michael.

"Yeah, I think you should go for a swim!" said Terrace, laughing nastily. He shoved Tom towards the pool.

Tom didn't reply, his gaze narrowing dangerously. _I'll make them pay_, he thought. As Michael and Robbie both lunged at him, Tom moved quickly, which resulted in the two bullies falling into the water with a loud splash.

Tom turned to watch as they sputtered to the surface, coughing. They both snarled, moving for the edge. "You prat," said Michael angrily.

Tom felt something stir inside him and he found himself whispering, "Hold him under." His eyes widened only slightly as he watched Michael suddenly turn, as if led by an invisible hand, and shove Robbie under the water. _How…did I just make him do that?_ wondered Tom, but secretly he was very pleased. Perhaps they would learn not to harass him anymore.

"Michael! What are you doing!" came the frantic voice of Mrs. Cole.

"You let him up this instant!" came the sharp voice of Mrs. Everenst. Michael blinked and suddenly let go of Robbie, staggering back in the water. He stared, wide-eyed as Robbie surfaced, choking on water. "Robbie!" Mrs. Everenst cried, rushing to the aid of her son. She helped him out of the pool to the tiled floor, where he knelt, still coughing up water.

Mrs. Cole looked at Michael, who had a horrified expression on his face. "What were you thinking?" she demanded.

"I – Mrs. Cole – I, I didn't –" he stammered.

Tom merely smirked and when Mrs. Cole looked at him, he immediately put an innocent look on his face. "I saw it, Mrs. Cole. Michael tried to drown Robbie."

Mrs. Cole shook her head in disbelief, looking at Michael. "You, boy, are in serious trouble. Get out of that pool. You're coming with me."

Once Michael climbed out of the pool, he continued to protest as Mrs. Cole led him out of the room. Satisfied, Tom walked back over to his chair, taking a seat and leaning back, folding his arms behind his head. Part of him was very pleased at what had happened while the other was still very confused. _How did I do that? First I can talk to snakes…now I can make people do things that I want them to? _He felt a giddy rush of pleasure run through his body at the prospect of being able to have control over other people and make them do what he wanted. The best part of all was that he would learn how to do it so that no one could ever prove it was him.

* * *

New Years Eve came with a nasty blizzard and as a result, everyone was stuck inside. Several of the boys and girls had begun a game of tag, racing up and down the vast corridors. Tom had elected to sit in the drawing room, reading one of his favorite books, _The Prince and the Pauper. _He wouldn't mind switching places with someone like that, just to see what it would be like. _Anything would be better than this_, he thought, glancing around the gloomy room. The wind howled outside, sending sheets of snow spattering against the windows in a steady drum. 

Joanna, a fourteen year old, sat nearby in a rocking chair, working on a needlepoint. She took a sip of her water, setting it back down on the end table next to her, and continued to work. Tom flipped another page in his book, finally getting to the interesting part, when the two boys had been discovered. _Why are there so many Tom's?_ he thought with a frown. He hated the fact that his name made him just another Tom, a face in a sea of people. He wanted to be special, different from everyone else. In the orphanage, they all wore the same gray clothes. _I'm far more special than any of them,_ he thought fiercely. _I can do things that they wish they could do._ Over the past few months, he had grown to discover that if he concentrated, he could force animals and people to do what he wanted. Margaret, a small, nine-year old, had been chasing him around one day and wouldn't leave him alone. So he told her tie her shoe-laces together and go downstairs. This resulted in her falling down a flight and a half and needing medical treatment. He had snuck into her room, while she was at the hospital, and stole a pair of her shoelaces, tucking them into a box that he kept in his wardrobe. His trophies were beginning to add up and he planned on adding more.

He suddenly felt something wet by his fingers and looked down to see water covering his book. He stared, stunned, not knowing how it had happened. The ink was beginning to blur and he felt a rush of anger jet through him. His head jerked up and he saw Joanna staring at him, horrified. "I'm sorry, Tom!" she said quickly. "I didn't mean to! The glass just fell!"

So it had been her who had ruined his favorite book. He suddenly wanted to see her precious needlework ruined, just like she had done to his book. At that moment, her needlework flew up into the air, beginning to unravel. Joanna stared, wide-eyed at it. Then it flew at her and she screamed, stumbling out of her chair and running for the door, the needlework following close behind. He heard her screams echo down the hall and eventually dissipate as she ran away. The needlework fell to the floor by the now open door and Tom could only stare. Had he done that?

He looked back down at his book and tried to dry the pages with the sleeve of his tunic. Thankfully, it looked like only a few of the pages had been blurred, saving the rest of the book. He'd finish it another time; he had more interesting matters at hand. He set the book to the side, standing and walking over to the needlework. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand. It looked normal enough. _How did it move like that?_ he wondered. Walking back over to her chair, he set the needlework down on the seat. On the end table sat a pin cushion and two silver thimbles. He picked one of the thimbles up and stuck it in his pocket. Then he walked over to one of the bookshelves, selecting a book. Placing it on the floor, he sat down across from it and began to concentrate. _Move,_ he thought.

It didn't move.

He frowned and trying to imagine the book moving, but it still stay stubbornly still.

After countless tries, his head hurt and he was frustrated. He kicked the book in retaliation, sending it skidding across the floor to come to a halt at the base of the bookshelf. Standing, he walked towards the door and was about to leave when he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

He turned around to see that the book was hovering in the air. His eyes widened and then he quickly recovered, intent on seeing if he could control it. But as soon as he focused, the book fell. He muttered a curse, but his determination did not falter. He would be able to control the objects, it would just take practice. He heard the grandfather clock chime out in the hall. Midnight. _I'm nine years old now,_ he thought. He looked out the window, where he knew the blizzard still blew hard and fierce. _What a way to spend my birthday._ He sighed and walked out of the room.

* * *

Spring came with heavy rains, fog, and cool temperatures. As they entered May, Tom busied himself by tending to a small plant that he had found by the edge of the woods. It had spiky, dark green leaves, and was still very tiny. It gave him something to focus on and he found that he liked taking care of it. 

However, one afternoon, when he went to check on his plant, he found it half-eaten. The culprit was Billy Stubb's black rabbit, who sat happily munching a few feet away. He glared darkly and stomped out the remainder of the plant, crushing it into the dirt. _Not like I needed it anyways,_ he thought angrily. Then he turned towards the rabbit, which was looking up at him with round eyes. Since Billy constantly held it, it wasn't afraid of people. _Too bad for it,_ thought Tom menacingly.

"Come here," he commanded quietly, his gaze cold as he looked upon the small rabbit. It hopped obediently towards him and he felt that familiar twinge of power. This would be a test, to see if he could really control animals. The rabbit paused at his feet, its whiskers twitching. It was still munching on the remainder of his plant. "Stop breathing."

He watched in satisfaction as the rabbit almost seemed to freeze in place. Almost immediately it began to twitch, falling sideways to the ground.

"Salma!"

Tom looked up to see Billy walking in his general direction, looking around for his rabbit. His gaze landed on the rabbit and he ran over. "Salma!" Billy scooped up his twitching rabbit into his hands, looking frightened. Tom released his hold on the rabbit and Salma shuddered as it let out a breath. Billy glared at Tom. "What were you doing?"

"What are you talking about," said Tom coolly.

"You think that just because Robbie ain't here no more that you can walk all over everyone? You're always whispering to the animals and all your friends have left you," sneered Billy. "Why would anyone want to stay around you? I know that it's you behind all those accidents."

"Is that so? Prove it." Tom's voice grew colder.

"I don't need to. You'll get what's coming to you, just you wait."

"I wouldn't threaten me, if I were you."

"Or what? You try anything and they'll kick you out of the orphanage."

"Good," muttered Tom but then said, "They can't prove I did anything."

"One day, Riddle. You know, Joseph's right about you. You really are pathetic, not even your mother wanted to keep you," spat Billy.

Tom glared. "Who bloody cares?"

"I bet your father saw how freaky you were and helped your mum get rid of you," Billy continued to taunt. "Ooh, getting angry? I'm not scared, Riddle. You're nothing. Even Henry's moved to another room. No one wants to be around you."

Tom was simmering with anger but kept it controlled, glaring venomously at Billy. "At least I don't carry that toe rag around with me all the time."

"No, you just play with your imaginary friends," retorted Billy.

"Boys!" They both looked to see Maggie, the head housekeeper, rushing over to them. Her graying hair was coming out of her bun, leaving a few wisps to frame her wrinkled face. She wore a black, short-sleeved dress, and a white apron. She clucked her tongue, moving between them. "No more fighting. Billy, Mrs. Cole wants you and a few of the other boys to help clean out the attic. Give me Salma," she said, taking the rabbit from a protesting Billy. "Now shoo." Billy glared but turned, walking away. He went back inside the orphanage, but not before giving Tom one last sneer. Tom ignored him, his eyes on Maggie. Her gaze softened. "Tom, why don't you help Bridget in the kitchen? She'll be needing a strong pair of arms to help stock the pantry." She put a hand on Tom's shoulder, which he shrugged off. She sighed. "I don't know what happened, Tom, to make you change so much."

"I don't need sympathy," he said coldly and turned, walking towards the back door. He hated people feeling sorry for him. He didn't need anyone. He went inside, letting the door slam behind him.

* * *

That following night, Tom was heading back from the bathroom when he saw Salma hopping down the hall. His gaze narrowed and he smirked slightly. _I'll teach Billy not to mess with me,_ he thought. "Salma, come here," he said quietly, crouching down and holding out his hands. The rabbit stopped, peering at him, as if remembering that it got hurt the last time it was near him. It turned to scamper off when Tom said, "Stop." His voice rung with his command and Salma stopped. His smirk deepened. _Brilliant._ "Now come here." The rabbit turned and hopped obediently into Tom's waiting hands. He stood up, his long fingers holding it lightly. He walked down the hall, hearing voices around the corner. He spotted Billy and Terrace walking towards the bathroom and Tom slipped silently into their room. Their room was just the same as all the others, with two iron bedsteads, gray blankets, and two wardrobes. A single window let in the moonlight, adding to the feeble light from a small lamp. 

Salma squirmed in Tom's hands and he glanced down at it. "Be still." Salma stopped moving, its whispers still twitching, as if trying to figure out what was going on. Tom spotted the ball of yarn that Terrace was always playing with and set Salma down on the end of a bed. Then he glanced up at the ceiling, which comprised of low rafters. Smirking, he picked up the ball of yarn and unraveled some of it, tying it in a loop. Then he threw the ball over the rafters, an easy feat for him, as he was quite tall. He wrapped the loop around Salma's neck and then lifted the rabbit up onto the rafter. He tied the string to the rafter, whispering, "Don't move," to Salma, who did exactly what he said. He set the ball of string in a nook, so it wouldn't fall and then stepped back.

His gaze was cold and unfeeling as he commanded, "Jump."

* * *

Tom was already in his room when he suddenly heard a loud yell followed by several other yells and loud talking. He heard the thundering of footsteps come up the stairs and pass by his room. He just smirked and flipped a page in his book, _A look into History_, that he had taken from the study. He heard a scream and just chuckled. _Guess they found the little black rabbit._ He stood, setting the book down, and then walked out of his room, deciding to uphold appearances and seem concerned. 

"What's going on?" he asked innocently, looking at the large group of people gathered outside Billy and Terrace's room.

Mrs. Cole's face was white as a sheet as she came out of the room. Maggie reached to comfort her, putting her arms around the older woman. Mrs. Cole's gaze landed on Tom. "Did you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?" All eyes were on him now but he remained as calm as always.

"Hang Billy's poor rabbit from the rafters!"

"No, why would I? I was in my room all this time, you can ask anyone."

"Is that true?" Mrs. Cole asked, looking at a boy named Richie. Richie glanced at Tom, whose gaze only narrowed slightly.

Richie looked quickly back to Mrs. Cole. "Yes, Mrs. Cole. I saw him in there."

Tom smirked inwardly, all the while looking completely innocent. "I swear, Mrs. Cole, I would never do that! You know I love animals," said Tom, in a sickening sweet voice.

Mrs. Cole seemed satisfied with it and just shook her head. "The poor thing. Terrible. Terrible. Maggie, take care of it and have Terrace and Billy sleep in Henry and Sam's room tonight."

"Of course, ma'am," said Maggie and she began ushering the other children back into their rooms. "Nothing to see. Off to bed with you."

Mrs. Cole passed by Tom, still looking pale and clammy. He watched as she disappeared down the stairs and then turned, returning to his own room. _That's what people get when they make me angry._

_

* * *

_

The summer came and went in a flash. They visited a small, sea-side town for a few weeks, which was a pleasant change. Most of the children went swimming, but Tom stayed back, finding a few snakes that he could converse with. He continued to practice moving objects, getting better all the time, until he could make them move easily and at his command. He also found that, given practice, he could make bad things happen to people that hurt him. Before, it had just been something that happened when he was angry and his emotions went wild. But now, if he concentrated, he could cause the things to happen whenever he chose. This resulted in the majority of the orphans becoming quite scared of him, but never telling on him, as they were afraid that he would do something far worse. His trophies were accumulating and he soon found himself with quite a collection.

As his tenth birthday came and passed, he grew even taller, his clothes quickly becoming too small for his lanky frame.

He would often sit in his room, looking through his trophies, or reading a book. The adults seemed wary of him, as if they thought he was behind the nasty incidents that occurred frequently, but couldn't prove it. Well, adults weren't very bright anyways, was his reasoning. They underestimated him, which was a big mistake.

One late April afternoon, Tom was sitting outside on the chain swing, just moving back and forth, watching as his trainers dragged in the dirt. He wondered, vaguely, how Vincent and Shawn were doing, but quickly pushed the thought from his mind. They were out of his life and he never wanted to see them again. He had grown stronger over the past year and he could take care of himself.

He heard music and looked over to see Rudolph walking by, playing on his mouth organ. He wasn't very good and the sounds hurt Tom's ears. "Go play that somewhere else, will you?" asked Tom, wincing.

Rudolph paused, looking at him and then turned, walking quickly away. Tom saw him shove the mouth organ into his pocket. No one wanted to be near him now and they rarely spoke around him. _Probably think I'll do something to them if they do,_ he thought. He couldn't deny the fact that he was lonely and he wouldn't mind having some companionship. Sure, he had his snakes, and they would often visit him, but it wasn't the same. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, memories of the pranks he played with Vincent slithered their way into his consciousness. This made it even harder, knowing that he was very much alone.

"I hate it here," he muttered, shoving the toe of his trainer into the dirt with particular venom. Then he stood, shoving the swing away and stuck his hands in his pockets, taking a walk.

Later that day, Tom was heading to his room when he saw Rudolph playing on his mouth organ again. He was sitting on the floor by the banister, his legs hanging off over the landing. Tom had had just about enough of it and paused, concentrating. He watched as the mouth organ suddenly flew out of Rudolph's hands and smacked him over the forehead.

"Ow!" cried Rudolph, his hands flying up to protect his face. A nasty red welt was already beginning to rise on his forehead. The organ, however, was relentless and kept battering at his hands, since they were in the way of his face. He stumbled up, crying, and ran, nearly tripping down the stairs. "Mrs. Cole!"

Tom just smirked and continued to walk. After using the restroom, he headed back towards his room, spotting Rudolph's mouth organ just lying on the carpeted floor. He reached down, picking it up and pocketing it. _Another trophy for my collection._ He chuckled and went to his room.

* * *

About a week after they had returned from Vanderlin, the sea-side town that they always visited on their summer outings, Tom decided to go into London. A bus always passed by at the same time every day, taking its passengers into the city. He had been to London several times and always managed to slip away from the adults. He could take care of himself and he didn't need anyone watching over him. 

After asking permission from Mrs. Cole, who gave him a few pounds to use for his fare, Tom accompanied Lissi into London. He knew that Mrs. Cole would never let him go off on his own, but Lissi seemed to think otherwise. She either thought he was very mature for a ten-year old, or she was scared of him and didn't want to be around him more than she had to.

Either way, Tom soon found himself wandering the streets of London. He was due back to the bus stop at four o'clock to head back to the orphanage. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he paused to look up at King's Cross Station. _I could just get on a train and leave. They'd never notice. Besides, they probably would be glad to get rid of me,_ he thought. _I wouldn't mind leaving either._ The wind was slightly chilly that September morning and Tom's thin clothes did little to ease the bite.

However, his attention was drawn to a dark-haired, portly, middle-aged woman struggling with a little, brown-haired girl. "Come now, Minerva, we'll be late if we don't hurry! It's nearly eleven o'clock!"

"Mum, I don't have Ralphie! I can't go without him!" she protested, trying to tug her hand free of her mother's grasp.

The woman looked extremely exasperated. "Honestly, Minerva! It's your second year. Shoo! I'll bring Ralphie to the platform." She ushered her daughter up the stairs, who was struggling with a trolley packed with brown paper wrapped packages. The girl disappeared into the train station and Tom watched as the woman tugged a wire-cage out of the backseat of a black car. To Tom's surprise, it contained an eagle owl, which was flapping and hooting as the woman struggled to hurry up the stairs, carrying the cage.

_An owl? Curious_, he thought, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He continued his walk down the street, glancing back only once at the station. He turned down a smaller street that wound between two stretches of buildings. Awnings hung over the street, making it seem even smaller. People went about their daily business, ignoring him for the most part. As Tom exited into the open air once again, he spotted a small park, which held an old, rusty swing-set. There were a couple of children playing in the grass, running around and trying to catch each other.

"Bernie! Michelle! Rollie! Lunch time!" Tom looked to see a tall, young woman standing at the edge of the park, her blue dress covered by a stained apron. She looked harried as she tried to usher the children back into a short, squat building. Then Tom noticed the sign next to the open door: St. Augustine Orphanage. Behind the building rose a tall church steeple. The door closed as the woman and children entered, leaving Tom alone in the streets.

The rest of the day went quickly, as he explored the streets and some of the smaller shops. There was nothing of particular interest and wouldn't be until he returned a fortnight later to London.

The weather was growing colder as September neared its end. Tom, bundled up as best he could be in a worn jacket, took the bus into London. He had nicked a ten pound note from Mrs. Cole's office and decided to do a bit of his own exploring, without any adults. Every day there was always a span of a few hours that he could spend in his room and no one bothered him. So that afternoon, he snuck onto the bus and headed partially into the city.

He was walking down Vauxhall Bridge Road when he spotted a small bookshop store on the corner. Crossing the street quickly, he entered, hearing a bell jingle. "I'll be right with you!" called a voice from behind the many bookshelves. The store, which appeared small on the outside, was actually much larger. The room stretched far into the back, with rows of bookshelves. Many of the books near the top had a layer of dust and looked ready to fall apart. Long tables had been set up against one of the walls beneath two square windows. Each table had a brightly lit lamp and there were two small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, spreading a good amount of light across the room. Tom walked between two bookshelves, his eyes scanning the titles for something of interest.

"Can I help you?"

Tom looked to see an older man standing between the bookshelves, carrying a stack of books in his arms. His white hair stuck out in all directions and his glasses were smudged. He looked as though he had been cleaning. "Hello. No, I'm just looking," said Tom.

"Very good."

Tom turned to go down another aisle, feeling the man's eyes on him all the while. It was as if the owner didn't trust him. But then again, he looked to be just a ten-year old boy in worn clothing, someone that could try to steal one of his precious books.

Even at the end of an hour, he still hadn't found anything that captured his interest. Most of the books were falling apart and had a moldy odor to them. Once outside, he took a breath of the fresh, cold air and stuck his hands into his pockets, walking again.

He came upon a small variety store down the road and entered. There was a small café to the right, with two round tables and a counter. Above the counter listed several food and drink items that could be purchased. To the left of the café was a shop that held a variety of items anywhere from traveler maps to bottled soda. Tom walked through the store, finding a bookshelf in the back that contained books and magazines. A plain black cover book caught Tom's attention and he picked it up, flipping through the blank pages. It looked to be some sort of diary. Turning it over, he saw that on the bottom was printed 'Ned's Variety Store, Vauxhall Road, London'. Checking the price, he saw that it was in his range, and decided to buy it. _Don't know when I'd ever have a use for a diary, but it could come in useful,_ he thought. There was just something about it, a feeling he had, that he might as well buy it. His gut feelings had never been wrong before, so he would go along with it. Walking up to the counter, he set down the diary and his ten pound note. "I'd like this."

The young girl who was ringing up orders turned to look at him. She reminded him of a fish, with large eyes and flat features. Her stringy blond hair was hung loosely around her face and her clothes seemed a bit too snug on her large frame. She was a few inches shorter than him and he just looked at her coolly. He watched as her gaze moved over his worn clothes and then to his money.

"Anything else?" she finally asked. Her voice was reedy and annoying.

"No."

She looked at him for a few more moments and then rung him up, giving him his change. He stuck the diary into his pocket as well as the rest of his money, and headed out.

* * *

The holidays came and went, along with Tom's eleventh birthday. He didn't get anything, as usual, but it had come to the point where he didn't even care anymore. Every day was monotonous and long and Tom wondered when he'd ever get out. He busied himself with improving his abilities: talking to snakes, controlling animals, and making things move through the air. 

There were a few new arrivals to the orphanage, Martha Higgins and Eric Walley. They seemed to find it amusing to taunt Tom, until he made them pay. Eric broke out in a severe rash and Martha fell off the swing, breaking her wrist.

One spring afternoon, he heard Mrs. Cole talking to some of the other adults about him.

" – should send him there. It would stop the problems for sure!" said a woman.

"But how would that solve anything?" asked Mrs. Cole. "He couldn't possibly have done those things…" but she seemed unsure.

"No? Then why is it that every time someone is around Tom or when they make him mad, that something nasty happens to them?" asked another woman, whom Tom recognized as Maggie, the head housekeeper.

"The asylum would help," said a man.

Tom's gaze narrowed as he listened, his back against the wall in the corridor. _How dare they…I'm not nutters and I don't need some stupid asylum. They don't know what they're talking about._

He heard someone sigh. "We can't just lock him away, Fredrick," said Mrs. Cole. "God only knows that some of the children might sleep better though."

"They're all terrified of him," said Maggie

"How many incidents have occurred?" asked Fredrick.

"In the past month?" asked Mrs. Cole.

"There's been that many?" asked the other woman in shock.

"You saw what happened to Taylor," answered Maggie. "He fell into that well and would never have been found if not for Lissi hearing him crying. And that's only happened in the past few days."

"We can't prove it was Tom, Maggie," said Mrs. Cole.

"Well we need to do something," said Fredrick. "If these nasty incidents keep occurring, who knows what could happen next?"

"But what if it doesn't solve anything?" asked the woman.

"It'll relieve stress, I know that," said Maggie.

Tom didn't stick around to hear anything else, simmering with rage. _Who do they think they are? Talking about me, trying to lock me up. They'll wish they never even thought about it._ He stormed back to his room, slamming the door shut.

* * *

However, weeks passed and there was no sign of the adults trying to send Tom away. May came with heavy rains but warmer temperatures. Tom hadn't done anything in the past month to anyone, keeping to himself and reading. His box of trophies, along with the diary he had bought sat in his wardrobe, along with a few articles of clothing and a pile of his favorite books. 

He had made Maggie and Fredrick pay, of course, for trying to send him away. Maggie had been burned severely when the stove backfired and was taken to the hospital. Fredrick was driving back from London when a wild deer had rammed into his car just outside the orphanage. He had survived, but just barely.

Tom often sat by his window in a wooden chair, looking outside at nothing in particular. One afternoon, he was going through the things in his wardrobe when he stumbled across an old photograph. It was of him and Vincent. Something pulled inside of him, seeing the happy smiles on their faces.

Walking over to his window seat, he sat down, holding the photograph in his long fingers. _Vincent._ He hadn't thought about Vincent in over a year, but now found himself wondering where he was, what he was doing. Perhaps a small part of him missed his former best friend, but then he would remember that Vincent had a happy life now, and Tom was stuck in this miserable hell hole. He sneered slightly at the smiling boys, standing in front of the nunnery. _Happy. Hah. What is that? The only time I feel good is when I use my abilities. I was naïve then. I've learned a lot since those days and learned it the hard way. The only thing you can ever count on is yourself. I wonder if my father is still alive. Tom Riddle Sr. I'd like to teach him a lesson for leaving my mother to die._ He threw the photograph into the trash with disgust. _Happiness is overrated. _


	9. The Cave

**_A/N:_**_ All of you that have read HBP will recognize this little incident. ;)_**_  
_**

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* * *

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**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part One: The Awakening**

**Chapter Eight-**

**- The Cave -**

The bus jerked as it sped over ridges in the road, causing its passengers to bounce uncomfortably in their seats. Tom was sitting next to a boy named Charlie, who seemed to be always following him around. Charlie was a small boy, having lost his parents in a raid, and was one of the more recent additions to the orphanage that summer. With stringy brown hair and wide eyes, he often kept to himself, playing with a ball of string. Charlie rarely spoke to anyone, but it seemed Tom was one of the few people he would.

Tom watched the passing scenery fly by: a blur of greens, blues, and browns. The perfect June weather. The bus jerked again and he had to grip the seat in front of him in an effort not to fall over. Charlie, however, tumbled sideways towards the isle. With a quick movement, Tom reached out, his long fingers gripping Charlie's worn shirt, and hauled him back into the seat.

"Thanks, Tom," said Charlie quietly, glancing up at the taller boy.

"Welcome," said Tom indifferently, returning his gaze to the outside.

Since his eleventh birthday, he had grown to be one of the tallest boys in the orphanage. His clothes were already quickly becoming too small for him, with his long legs. Mrs. Cole, it seemed, had Lissi go out nearly every week to buy new clothes for the growing children. Tom looked down at his long fingers, pleased to see that they were still clean. One thing he did pride himself in was his immaculate appearance. He brushed some of his dark hair from his eyes, frowning slightly. It was getting long. He'd have to get that fixed soon.

His thoughts wandered to the box in his wardrobe that contained the trophies from his triumphs. So far he had Rudolph's mouth organ, Martha's yo-yo, Margaret's worn shoe laces, Joanna's thimble, the string from Salma's hanging, and a few other odds and ends. He was thankful that Robbie was gone, as he was sure that the boy wouldn't have lived very long if he had stayed around. Bad things seemed to happen to people when they tried to hurt Tom, and he liked that. It gave him a feeling of power and the knowledge that he was special. He wasn't like everyone else, that he was sure of. Too many things had happened over the past few years that proved it: making people get hurt, causing things to move by themselves, talking to snakes and making animals do what he wanted.

He heard snickering behind him and didn't need to turn around to know it was Michael and Terrace, the remnants of Robbie's gang. They usually picked on the smaller children as they learned the hard way not to mess with Tom Riddle. However, he knew they probably would make an attempt at revenge, even if they made someone else do it. They were cowards and not very bright.

Thankfully, the bus came to a halt and Tom looked around. It seemed they had finally reached their destination: Vanderlin, a small town on the edge of the sea. Every summer they would come here to get some fresh air and to take a break from the dark, gloomy orphanage. Everyone stood, beginning to make their way off the bus. Even at eleven and a half years old, he towered over the others. Several girls nearby giggled as they glanced at him and made their way off the bus. He ignored them. Girls didn't exactly interest him. What was so grand about them anyways?

As soon as he stepped off the bus, a blast of cold, salty sea air hit him and he took a deep breath, savoring it. It felt good in his lungs and he closed his eyes briefly.

"Alright, everyone, stop dossing about," said Mrs. Cole, ushering the children into a group. They turned their attention to her. "Now then, you're free to walk around but make sure you're back at noon to eat lunch. We'll meet again at six for dinner. Make sure you check in with Lissi, Gwendolyn, Robert, or myself before wandering off anywhere."

She began breaking them into groups and Tom soon found himself in a group with Amy, Dennis, Michael, and about ten other children. Mrs. Cole was in charge of their group, which was fine with Tom. She never kept a tight leash on them and Tom hated being tied down.

Tom glanced over to where Michael stood, along with two of his friends. He had brought Amy and Dennis over and was talking to them. Tom averted his gaze, not finding them very interesting, and looked around. The small town was nestled against the faces of stony cliffs. The sea sparkled in the morning sun and the day was warm, despite the cold, salty sea breeze. The town was comprised of low, flat red buildings, with dark brown, shingled roofs. Un-lit lanterns hung outside on porches, swaying in the strong breeze. There weren't too many people out this early in the morning, but a few were walking down the cobblestone pathways. Tom could see a long pier in the distance jutting out into the white-capped sea.

He began walking, shoving his hands into his pockets. He still found a small part of himself wishing Vincent could have seen these views, but quickly squashed those thoughts. It didn't help him to dwell on the past. Besides, he didn't need anyone and had made it a point not to get close to the other children. He glanced around, his gaze landing on Billy Stubbs, one of Robbie's old gang members. He was talking to some of his friends, standing in a group with Lissi, the head maid. Ever since Tom had made Billy's rabbit kill itself Billy had refrained from bothering Tom. _At least some of them learn_, he thought.

Tom stayed at the back of his group as they wandered around the village, going in various shops. _Anything's better than the orphanage,_ he thought.

* * *

That afternoon, after a good lunch, Tom made his way down to the sea, standing on the coast, looking out over the vast blue. The wind whipped around him, sending his wavy hair in front of his eyes and snapping his clothes against his skin. He brushed his hair out of his face and looked up the coast, his gaze landing on a large rock that jutted out into the sea. It sat at the base of the cliffs, the waves breaking against the outcropping in white foam. The cliff behind it looked to be a sheer drop and along its base were several other large outcroppings of rock.

It seemed to beckon to be explored and what better way to spend his afternoon? He was bored and he needed something interesting to do. He walked back up towards the town and spotted Amy and Dennis standing outside a candy shop. He smirked slightly. _I could have fun with this…they're always following me around, trying to see what I'm doing. Annoying, really. If I really can control these special abilities, why not try it out on them?_

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Thinking about buying candy," said Amy, looking over at Tom.

"Let's go explore. It'll be fun."

Amy and Dennis glanced at each other, looking ready to say 'no', but then shrugged. "Alright," said Amy.

"Where are we going?" asked Dennis.

"You'll see. Do you know where Mrs. Cole is?"

"I think she's in the candle shop," said Dennis, pointing.

"I'll be right back," said Tom, walking over to the shop and entering. He saw Mrs. Cole talking to a large woman with black hair pulled into a tight bun and wearing an off-white apron over her dark brown dress. "Mrs. Cole?" said Tom, when he saw a break in their conversation.

"Yes, Tom?" said Mrs. Cole, turning to look at him.

"Amy, Dennis, and I are going to go explore. We'll be up the coast. Is that alright?"

"That's fine," said Mrs. Cole with a small smile. "Just be back for dinner."

"We will." Tom turned, leaving the shop and walking back over to Amy and Dennis. "Let's go." Tom turned and began walking, leading them out of the town.

He found a winding path through some dark underbrush that looked like it led towards their destination. "Follow me," he said and began walking, being careful of his footing.

Amy and Dennis followed behind him, silently. As they climbed higher, the left side of the trail dropped off sharply towards the sea below. He could tell Amy and Dennis were afraid but he felt no fear. Finally they reached a spot where it flattened out. Tom walked to the edge, looking down to see the large rock below them. They were at a lower area of the cliff and the rock was only about fifteen feet or so down.

"We're almost there," said Tom, motioning them to the edge.

They stared over the edge with wide-eyes. "We're going down there?" asked Amy, clearly frightened.

"What if we fall?" squeaked Dennis.

Tom looked at each of them in turn. "You won't fall. I'm going first. Just follow me."

He sat down on the edge of the cliff and turned around, finding footholds. He began his slow descent, checking periodically to see that Amy and Dennis were following. He knew they would. Whenever he told them to do something, they always did it, no matter how scared they were. Like the time that he had had them climb a tree to get a cat, and when he took them out onto the roof for some star-gazing. He felt something stir inside him when he saw how scared they were, but still doing what he said. He had power over them and he enjoyed that feeling.

He felt his feet touch the rock and let go of the cliff, standing back to watch as Amy and Dennis climbed down. Their faces were white and clammy, their hands shaking as they descended. He just crossed his arms over his chest, his face impassive. He knew they wouldn't fall. How he knew this, he didn't know, but it was just a feeling he had. It was like how he had known he wouldn't fall. He couldn't explain it, exactly, but his feelings had never been wrong in the past.

Once Amy and Dennis finished climbing, they made their way slowly to Tom. "What's so good about this place?" asked Dennis, rubbing his arms. The wind was colder here; biting their skin and making it turn red.

"Just to explore," said Tom casually, walking to the edge of the rock and looking down. White-capped waves crashed against the outcropping, foam gathering around the base from the constant beating. He then walked towards the base of the cliff and spotted a dark opening not too far way. _A cave…interesting,_ he thought. Since the tide was low, there was a small ledge that wound along the base of the cliff towards the cave. _Perfect. I didn't fancy a swim._ He looked back to Amy and Dennis, motioning them over. "We're going there." He pointed to the cave.

"But how?" asked Amy, her voice shaking slightly.

"I can't swim," said Dennis, his face white in terror.

"See that?" said Tom, pointing towards the ledge. "We'll walk along that. Don't look so afraid. Have I ever let you get hurt?" They shook their heads. "Exactly." He made his way towards the ledge, making sure they followed. Their descent was not easy to the boulders below, but the craggy footholds served their purpose. The rocks were slippery from the water and Tom moved carefully. Salt water sprayed their faces, making Amy and Dennis shiver. "You go first."

Despite their protests, he managed to get them onto the ledge. The three of them inched their way towards the cave, finally making it inside. Slowly and carefully they made their way through a tunnel, the water dark to their left. The walls were slimy, making it difficult to hold on. The sun's rays lit their way, illuminating the walls, making them shimmer. The passageway curved slightly to the left and finally they saw a stretch of rock where the water ended. They climbed off the ledge and Tom saw that they were inside a large cave, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a matchbook that he had stolen from Robert, the handyman. He struck a long match, its feeble light allowing them to find solid-footing.

"It's really dark, Tom. I don't think we should be here," said Amy, shivering from the cooler, damp air. She looked around, obviously nervous.

"I don't like this," said Dennis quietly.

"It's not that bad." The match died away and Tom threw the remains away.

He let his eyes adjust to the darkness. "_Visitorsss…"_ came a soft voice.

Tom felt a small smile creep across his face. "Hello?" he called quietly.

"_A human…he comesss clossser…"_ hissed the voice.

"Where are you?"

"_He can sssspeak to usss. Human, what issss your name?"_

"Tom. Tom Riddle."

"_We are right by your foot._"

Tom looked down by his feet and saw two dark shapes sliding past his them. He crouched down and held out his hand, allowing one of the snakes to slither onto it. "Is there anything interesting here?"

"_There is a cave bessside thisss one. It hasss a large lake."_

"How do you get there?"

"_We do not know. We can move through the cracksss. There isss an opening, perhapsss farther back._"

"Can you show me?"

But he never heard the snake's answer, as he was suddenly knocked sideways. He hit the icy water, sinking beneath it. As he sputtered to the surface, he saw Amy and Dennis standing where he once had been but then he sunk below. Unfortunately, it was common knowledge that he couldn't swim very well, as they had gone to a local pool several times and he never went in. Michael had shoved him in once and he had nearly drowned. Michael had paid for that by somehow tripping over a rock in the ground and breaking his ankle. He felt the icy water rush into his lungs and he coughed as he tried to stay above the surface. His heart beat slightly faster but it wasn't from fear. He wished there was something to stand on and then, suddenly, he felt something shift below his feet, pushing him to the surface. He collapsed onto the ground, coughing and spitting up water. He took a moment to recover and then stood, seeing that Amy and Dennis were standing at the edge of the water.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled and they backed up quickly.

"We – I – " they stammered, glancing at each other.

"Thought it'd be funny to see me drown, did you?" His gaze narrowed and he could feel anger rising within him.

"No! We – I –" protested Amy.

"Michael – he – we –"

Tom knew he had special abilities and this was the time to see if he could really control them. "Push her into the water," he commanded Dennis and watched with satisfaction as Dennis did as he was told. "Now get in next to her." He waited until they both stood in the water, clearly terrified, but unable to do anything about it. He walked slowly over to them, smirking darkly. He knew there were rocks hidden in the water and so, with his mind, he imagined them moving to trap Amy and Dennis.

They were screaming and struggling, trying to get out of the water, obviously pinned down by something. Only their heads were above the water and their flailing arms.

He crossed his arms over his chest, still smirking. "I think you'll think twice before trying to hurt me again."

"_They are ssscared,_" came the hissed voices of his friends.

"Hold her under the water," he said, his voice low, but still holding the same authority. Dennis was helpless as he suddenly pushed a shrieking Amy under the water. When he finally let Dennis release her, Amy came sputtering to the surface. "Scare them more," commanded Tom and watched as the snakes slithered towards Amy and Dennis.

They shrieked, trying to get away. Their splashes only sent water towards their faces, making them cough. "Help!" cried Amy.

Tom didn't let them go, watching in satisfaction as the snakes coiled themselves around their arms. "They're poisonous you know, so I wouldn't be moving so much."

Immediately, Amy and Dennis froze, staring at Tom in wide-eyed terror. "P- please.." whimpered Dennis.

"We're sorry!" whispered Amy, her voice catching.

Tom crouched down by the edge of the water, his gaze cold and his voice icy. "If you speak one word about this, to anyone," he whispered threateningly. "I can do far worse things to you than this. I will know if you say anything, so if you want to live, I wouldn't chance it."

"We won't say anything!" cried Amy frantically. "We promise!"

"We do! We promise!" cried Dennis.

He reached out, snatching Amy's red hair-ribbon out of her hair. "I'll be keeping this." He balled it up and shoved it into his pocket. "Leave them," commanded Tom to the snakes, which slithered back into the water. He turned his gaze back to Amy and Dennis. "One word and you'll wish you were back here. Understood?"

They nodded and he released them, allowing them to scramble back onto the rock. He watched them, shivering and shaking, still obviously terrified. They stared at him, huddled together. He turned, making his way out of the cave with a satisfied smirk on his face, as well as a giddy pleasure inside. _I did it! I really made all those things happen, just because I wanted them to! I made the rocks move and the snakes do what I wanted._ _And if I can do those things…who knows what else I can do!_ He was determined, now, to find out exactly how much he could do. That had been fun and they deserved it after trying to drown him.

He didn't even pay attention to his sopping wet clothes as he climbed back up the cliff, heading back to the town. Amy and Dennis weren't far behind. He would make sure they'd get back, for if they disappeared, he wouldn't be able to get away with what happened.

When Mrs. Cole saw them, she ran over, frantic. "What happened? Why are you soaked to the bone?"

"We were just exploring, Mrs. Cole," said Tom, keeping his voice sweet and innocent. "We just slipped on some of the rocks and the waves got us wet. But we're fine."

"You shouldn't have been playing so close to the water," chided Mrs. Cole. "Inside, the three of you. Lissi, get them dry clothes and soup."

Lissi nodded, heading inside one of the buildings. Mrs. Cole ushered them inside.

Fifteen minutes later, they were dressed in dry clothes and holding steaming mugs of soup in their hands. Mrs. Cole had her hands on her hips, looking at them. "Honestly. Exploring. You're staying in town for the rest of the day, is that understood?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cole," said Tom. Amy and Dennis were quiet, nodding their understanding. Their fingers grasped their mugs, still shaking slightly.

Her face softened. "Are you alright? No scratches or bruises?"

Amy and Dennis glanced at Tom, who narrowed his gaze only slightly. They quickly looked back to Mrs. Cole and merely shook their heads, their eyes cast downwards.

Mrs. Cole glanced at Tom, who kept his face innocent as always. She gave him a careful look, as if debating about something in her head, but then shook it away, walking over to the group of adults.

"Remember what I said," hissed Tom quietly.

Amy and Dennis nodded quickly and focused on their soup, their gaze haunted.

Tom smirked, taking a sip of his soup. _That was fun._


	10. Strange Arrival

**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part Two: The Beginning**

**Chapter Nine-**

**- Strange Arrival -**

It had been a month since the incident at the sea-side town of Vanderlin, but Dennis and Amy were still terrified of Tom. He enjoyed having that control over people. It made him feel less alone. He didn't need friends. What was their purpose? They only hurt. After Vincent and Shawn had left, Tom didn't speak to Henry or Joseph. Even three years later, he still had minimal contact with them, preferring his books instead. Every few days he would go get a new book out of the library in London and finish it that night. People thought he was strange. He knew differently. He was special. Very special. However, even he wouldn't realize his true potential until a stranger came knocking one warm June day.

Tom was sitting on a large swing out in the yard, his lanky form sprawled out over the wooden frame. The swing was large enough for two people and hung from the back porch, nicely shaded. He was dressed in a white shirt that was too large for him. He had already torn off the sleeves, which had had holes in them, and wore his usual grey trousers and white trainers. _Moby Dick_ was propped up against his thighs and his long, graceful fingers turned the pages deftly. His dark eyes glanced up, skimming the play yard. Amy and Dennis were no where to be seen, but that was common now. They hadn't spoken save for a few words, since the cave incident, believing that Tom would do something horrible to them if they did. Even Michael and his gang had finally conceded to leave Tom alone. _Surprisingly enough,_ thought Tom.

His gaze landed on one of the windows nearby, in which he could see his reflection. He was handsome and he realized that. Too many girls giggled as he passed when he walked the streets of London. As one of his two presents this year, he had received a long, black coat that he only wore when he was in London. It helped to hide his shabby clothes and enabled him to get in places that he otherwise wasn't allowed. He looked older for his age and far more mature. With raven locks of wavy hair, piercing dark eyes, fair skin, and standing at nearly 5'5" already, he could have been one of those poster boys he always saw on advertisements. But he didn't care. It wasn't something that amused him or was even remotely interesting. Neither were girls for that matter. They giggled too much and were far too bloody annoying.

"_What are you reading?"_ asked a voice.

Tom looked down to see one of his frequent visitors, a black and dark brown adder. It had slithered up onto the seat and was coiled next to him. He reached down, allowing the adder to slither onto his hand, winding its tail around his wrist. He lifted his hand, watching the snake with a slight smile.

"Moby Dick. An interesting book."

"_I ssseee."_ The adder turned its head to look at the book and then snaked its way around Tom's upper arm. Its tongue flickered, tasting the air. It looked at Tom. "_What isss ssso interesssting about booksss?"_

"If you could read, you'd understand. It's something to do when I'm bored."

"_Why don't you have sssome fun?_" The snake knew, of course, what Tom's idea of fun was, and approved. It usually came up with rather good plans, giving Tom new ideas. However, Tom had been playing it low since the cave incident and overhearing the conversation between the adults about trying to lock him up. They couldn't prove anything, but he wasn't stupid enough to do something that would send him to the asylum. He wasn't crazy and being in there would be even worse than the orphanage, if that was possible. At least here he was free to roam London. If he was locked up, then he wouldn't be able to have any fun.

"Perhaps I will." He shut his book, tucking it under his arm and stood. The adder slid down his arm, dropping onto the swing and then the ground. He watched as it slithered off into the shadows, disappearing into the grass.

The heat was beginning to bother him and so he went inside, heading up to his room. He put his book inside his wardrobe and left his room. He was washing his face in the washroom when Henry entered. Tom lifted his head, drying his face with a towel. He saw Henry in the reflection of the mirror and turned to face him. Henry once towered over him, but now they were eye-level. Henry, however, was muscular and quite large, compared to Tom.

"Tom," said Henry, finally.

"Surprised you remembered my name," said Tom coldly, setting the washcloth down and walking towards the door. Henry reached out and stopped Tom, touching his arm. Tom glanced distastefully at the boy's hand and then looked to his eyes with distain. "What?"

Henry looked a bit taken back, removing his hand quickly. "Well, I, did you do something to Amy and Dennis?"

Tom's gaze narrowed. "Did they say something?"

Surprise appeared on Henry's face. "What? No. They just, well, they don't talk anymore. And you were the last person to be with them…before they stopped speaking, I mean."

"So what, you're accusing me now?" snapped Tom. "You should know me better than that."

Henry appeared unsure. "I, well, you've changed Tom."

"Well spotted." Tom shoved past Henry, walking out into the hall.

Henry looked after him. "Tom." Tom stopped but didn't turn around. "Why? You never smile anymore, you don't plan pranks…" his voice trailed off.

"People change," was all he said before walking back to his room and shutting the door.

Henry sighed, watching as Tom left. At the nunnery, Henry had always been the loud one, and the one that didn't care for the rules. He would often help Tom and Vincent in their pranks, enjoying the mischievousness. But there had always been the barrier of age, being four years older. Henry was fifteen now and planned on entering the services when he was old enough. It was something that interested him and would get him out of the orphanage. He understood change. He had changed, mellowing out. Tom, however, seemed to have grown bitter and cold. It was a drastic change from the fun-loving, easy-going, laughing boy that he had known so long ago. _Anyone would go mad in this place,_ thought Henry, looking around.

He used the restroom and then went back to his room, flopping down on his bed. Joseph sat on the bed across the room, writing to his parents as usual. Henry had given up on tormenting him. It didn't get anywhere and it was pointless. At least Joseph still had hope, even though Henry knew that Joseph's parents were never coming to find him. It was the harsh truth but in this place, everyone needed a little hope, or they wouldn't last long.

"I'll send this out in the morning post," said Joseph, taking care to seal his letter. He set it on his dresser and looked at Henry. "What's gotten into you?"

Henry found his ratty ball that he liked to toss around and began throwing it up into the air, leaning against his pillows. "Talked to Tom."

Joseph arched an eyebrow. "That nutter? What'd you go and do that for?"

Henry glared slightly at Joseph. "He's not a nutter."

"Defending him now, are you?" asked Joseph with a slight sneer. "Still wanting to be friends with that git?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I don't turn on my friends, unlike _some_ people."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." It was common knowledge that Joseph often joined Michael and his friends in torturing some of the other children, and sometimes even taunting Henry. Henry just ignored their childish behavior.

Joseph just rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He stood and walked out, leaving the door cracked open slightly.

"Here we are," Henry heard Mrs. Cole's voice waft out from the hallway. He heard knocking and, curious, Henry climbed out of his bed and stuck his head out into the hall. What he saw shocked him. Mrs. Cole stood in front of Tom's door with a tall, auburn-bearded man wearing a flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet. Henry's eyebrows rose. _Who's he? And what is he wearing?_

Mrs. Cole opened Tom's door, entering. The man followed and the door shut. Henry tiptoed down the hall, curiosity getting the better of him.

Meanwhile, Tom was sitting on his bed, stretched out, reading _Moby Dick_ again. He had opened the window, allowing some of the cool breeze to waft through, rustling his hair and the pages of his book. Even being on the second floor, it was almost unbearably hot.

Tom heard knocking and glanced at the door, watching as it opened. Mrs. Cole stepped through, followed by a tall man dressed in very strange clothes. _Did he get dressed in the dark?_ he wondered, arching an eyebrow.

"Tom?" said Mrs. Cole. "You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it." She stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Tom's gaze narrowed slightly as he continued to look at the man.

"How do you do, Tom?" said the man, walking forward and holding out his hand. Tom looked at it, hesitated, but finally shook it. He watched as the man pulled up a wooden chair, taking a seat. "I am Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor?" repeated Tom warily. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did _she_ get you in to have a look at me?" he asked, jabbing a finger towards the door.

"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"I don't believe you." He glared slightly. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!" he commanded. His voice rung with startling force, his glare deepening. However, annoyingly enough, Dumbledore kept smiling. Finally, Tom's glare faded away, replaced by wariness. "Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school – your new school, if you would like to come."

Tom immediately leapt off the bed, backing away from Dumbledore, furious. _Who the bloody hell does he think he is? _He thought with vengeance. _Does he think I'm stupid! I know what those adults were talking about, trying to send me into that nut house. It's all because of that cave incident!_ "You can't kid me!" he spat. "The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course – well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!"

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently, which only infuriated Tom more. _How dare he just sit there and smile at me!_ Tom thought angrily. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you –"

"I'd like to see them try," sneered Tom.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, "is a school for people with special abilities –"

"I'm not mad!"

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school for magic."

Tom froze, staring at Dumbledore, as if not quite comprehending what he had just said. He face was expressionless, his gaze darting over Dumbledore's face, trying to see if he was just fooling around. It took a few long minutes before Tom finally whispered, "Magic?"

"That's right."

"It's….it's magic, what I can do?" He felt something rise inside of him, a sort of giddy pleasure. It was hot, searing through his body, making him almost shiver in excitement. _I knew it! I knew it!_

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts," he breathed. He could feel the heat rising through his body, excitement filling him. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." He could feel his legs trembling and stumbled forward. Taking a seat on his bed, he stared at his hands, his head bowed slightly. _I can't believe it…it's…magic…really magic! I've read about it, so much…but I didn't believe it was real! _"I knew I was different," he whispered, watching his quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you are quite right," said Dumbledore. "You are a wizard."

Tom lifted his head, wild happiness replacing his stunned look. "Are you a wizard too?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," he commanded.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts – "

"Of course I am!" _Anything to get out of here! This is a dream come true!_

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir'."

Tom's gaze hardened upon the reprimand but then it was gone, replaced by his eagerness. "I'm sorry, sir," he said politely, using his charm that he had a knack for. "I meant – please, Professor, could you show me?"

Tom watched as Dumbledore drew out a long, thin stick from inside his suit jacket and pointed it at his wardrobe. Dumbledore gave the stick a casual flick and suddenly the wardrobe burst into flames.

Tom jumped to his feet, howling in shock and rage. _My books! My things! How dare he!_ Tom rounded on Dumbledore, ready to make him pay, when the flames suddenly vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. Tom stared at the wardrobe, unsure as to what had just transpired. Then he looked at Dumbledore's stick, eagerness once again filling his voice. "Where can I get one of them?"

"All in good time. I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

A faint rattling could be heard from inside the wardrobe and Tom spun to face it, frightened. _What the…_

"Open the door," said Dumbledore.

Tom hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, sat his small, cardboard box of trophies. It was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

"Take it out," said Dumbledore. Tom took the quaking box, unnerved. _How…_ "Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?"

Tom threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. _How did he…_ he wondered. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, his voice expressionless.

"Open it."

Tom took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. He knew what they were: all his trophies from his triumphs. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets. He stared coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore, none too happy.

"You will return them to their owners with their apologies," said Dumbledore calmly. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Tom's expression didn't change, remaining cold. "Yes sir," he finally said, in a colorless voice.

"At Hogwarts, we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have – inadvertently, I am sure – been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic – yes, there is a Ministry – will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir." His face remained blank as he reached down, putting his trophies back into the box. _We'll just see about that,_ he thought. _I have my ways. _When he finished, he looked back at Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money."

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. Tom took the pouch, opening it and reaching in, feeling cool metal coins beneath his fingers. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand but –"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Tom, examining a fat gold coin.

"In Diagon Alley. I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything –"

"You're coming with me?" asked Tom, looking up.

"Certainty, if you –"

_I don't need anyone! _"I don't need you. I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley – sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye.

Dumbledore handed Tom the envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling Tom exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you – non-magical people, that is – will not. Ask for Tom the barman – easy enough to remember, as he shares your name –"

Tom gave an irritable twitch, displeased. _Why does everyone have my name? Even people in the stories I read._

"You dislike the name Tom?"

"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Tom. Then something came to him. "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Tom, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him." _Question is…why did he leave my mother to die?_ "Sir – when I've got all my stuff – when do I come to this Hogwarts?"

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope. You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."

Tom nodded, watching as Dumbledore got to his feet. _I wonder…_ Dumbledore held out his hand and taking it, Tom said, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips – they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation. _He's hiding something from me,_ thought Tom. "But not unheard of." Dumbledore's eyes moved curiously over Tom's face and they stood there for a few moments, staring at each other. Finally, Dumbledore broke the handshake, walking towards the door. "Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

Tom could only stare at the place where Dumbledore once stood, as the door shut behind the older man. Shaking, Tom looked down at the envelope in his hands, ready to burst with excitement. _I just knew it! I knew I was different! This proves it! Magic! I'm a wizard! _He glanced out the window, seeing that there was still plenty of daylight left. _I've got to see this Diagon Alley!_ Setting down the envelope, he pulled on his grey tunic and then picked up the envelope again. Without a backwards glance, he left the orphanage, heading into London.


	11. Familiar Faces

**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part Two: The Beginning**

**Chapter Ten-**

**- Familiar Faces -**

Tom followed Dumbledore's directions and soon found himself standing in front of a decrepit building, shoved between a closed bookstore and an old record store. Even the street, Charing Cross Road, was falling apart, with the pavement cracked in plenty of places and weeds sticking up through crevices in the sidewalk. Taller weeds strangled a rusted fence between the buildings. _This is madness,_ he thought, as the wind rustled his hair. He stepped towards the shabby-looking inn, glancing up at a dirty sign that creaked in the breeze. As he stepped closer to the door, writing appeared on the sign. "The Leaky Cauldron."

His eyes widened slightly. _He wasn't joking!_ Tom looked to the door, hesitant. Then he took a deep breath and opened the door, revealing a dimly lit, loud tavern. Voices filtered out into the street and he could barely hear himself think as he entered the tavern, the door shutting behind him. The air was smoky and he coughed, waving his hand in front of his face. Making his way towards the bar, he saw a young man, about mid-thirties, cleaning a mug with an off-white towel.

"Are you Tom?" he asked, still disliking the fact that the man shared his name. _Why couldn't I have had a more unusual name?_ he thought, annoyed.

The man looked at him and nodded. "Aye. And you are?"

"Tom Riddle. Professor Dumbledore told me to see you. Said that you could get me into Diagon Alley."

A smile broke across the barman's bearded face. "Aye! He told me ye might be headin' this way. Starting yer first year at Hogwarts?"

"Yes." Tom kept his face expressionless, not in the mood for pleasantries. Inside, however, he was curious as to how exactly this Tom the barman had known he was coming. _How did Dumbledore already talk to him? I left right after him. There's no way he could have reached London before me…_

The barman nodded. "Well then, follow me. I'll show ye the way." He walked out from behind the bar and Tom followed, silent. The man led him through the back door, into a small courtyard, choked with weeds. He stopped before a brick wall and Tom arched an eyebrow, curious.

"This is Diagon Alley?"

"No, no!" the barman laughed heartedly. "Diagon Alley is on the other side of this wall. Now watch." He drew a stick like Dumbledore's from his pocket and tapped a number of bricks in succession. Tom memorized it quickly, stashing it away in his memory.

Suddenly, the bricks parted as if pushed by invisible hands, revealing one of the most spectacular sights that Tom had ever seen. A long street stretched into the distance, where a tall, tilted marble building stood. It looked ready to fall to one side and Tom wondered how it could still be standing. Lining the street were many stores, some decorated in bright colors, others had tables out in front selling various goods. However, the cobblestone street wasn't what drew his attention. Everywhere he looked there were robed figures, wearing different colored clothing. Some wore pointed hats, others just wore shirts and jeans, and some weren't even human. He saw something with seven fingers and a long, hooked nose talking to a large woman. A bucket of what appeared to be pig snouts sat between them.

"Do ye need anyone to show ye yer way around?" asked the barman.

Tom just shook his head. "No, thanks."

"When yer ready to come back, just walk to the wall and it'll let ye through."

Tom began walking down the street, clutching his envelope tightly in his hand. He didn't even care that his clothes were ragged. The people here were dressed in far stranger clothing. His gaze wandered from store to store, amazed and speechless. One store, a cauldron shop, had a stack of black cauldrons that shone in the sun. Hanging over them was a sign that read:

Cauldrons

All sizes

Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver

Self-Stirring

Collapsible

Across the street was a shop called "Slug and Jiggers Apothecary". A tall wizard strode out the door and a horrible stench of bad eggs and rotten cabbage filtered out into the street. Tom wrinkled his nose and moved quickly down the street, dodging people as they went about their daily business. He passed by Flourish and Blotts, an interesting looking bookstore, and Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Across the street from the ice cream parlor was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

Tom stopped, moving to the side so that he wasn't trampled, and pulled out his supply list. _I need three sets of plain black school robes. This should do it._ He entered the robe shop, tucking his supply list into his pocket.

"Hello dear!" greeted a young woman, with frazzled black hair. "Come to get your school robes?"

Tom nodded. "What do I do?"

She smiled pleasantly. "I'll take you to the back, where we can fit you for your robes." She walked towards the back and Tom took a moment to look around. The robe shop wasn't large, but along its walls were racks of many-colored robes. Some shone in the sunlight that streamed in front the front windows, others were dark colors, absorbing the light. Displayed in the front windows were spangled and brightly-colored robes. Why anyone would wear those robes, Tom didn't know. He made his way to the back and saw that the far wall was covered in mirrors. He turned to face the young woman, who motioned for him to step up onto a short stool.

"My mum owns the store and I'm learning so that I can take over in a few years," the woman said, smiling. "My name's Elisabeth."

"Tom. Tom Riddle."

"Nice to meet you, Tom." She took out a tape measure and a long stick similar to Dumbledore's. _What are those?_ wondered Tom, but he wasn't about to ask. He didn't want to look like a complete dolt. With a wave of her stick, the tape measure began flying around Tom, taking various measurements. Tom hid his surprise but couldn't help but watch as it moved around him.

"Coming to Hogwarts?" asked a cheery voice.

Tom looked over to see a young boy, appearing to be Tom's age, with short, auburn hair, and smiling hazel eyes. He was being fitted for a long black robe as well by another young woman. "Yes. Are you?" said Tom, holding up his arms as Elisabeth began fitting him for his robes.

"Brilliant! It's my first year! My name's Alphard Black. What's yours?"

"Tom Riddle."

"Nice to meet you, Tom. I can't wait until Hogwarts! My Aunt Elladora tells me it's a dreary place, but I don't believe her. My mum and dad tell me not to listen to her. 'One too many be-headings of house elves finally got to her', they always say," he said, laughing.

As Tom didn't know what a house-elf was, he merely smiled slightly. "You're eleven, then?"

Alphard nodded, grinning. "My older brother, Procyon, he's a second-year and in Slytherin. I hope I'm in that house. My entire family's been in Slytherin. What about you?"

Tom was saved from answering as Elisabeth said, "That does you. I'll take your robes up front where you can pay for them."

"Thanks." He glanced at Alphard. "I have to go." He stepped off the stool, walking towards the front.

"See you on the train!" called Alphard.

After Tom purchased his robes, he exited the shop, walking over to the ice cream parlor. He stopped, remaining in the shadows, where it was cooler. _I need to buy a book about this wizarding world. I hate not knowing what they're talking about and I'm going to look like a complete dolt if I don't learn._

He was about to head out into the street when he heard a male voice that sounded strangely familiar. He slid back into the shadows, listening, clutching his package containing his newly purchased school robes.

"- the play! It was absolutely brilliant! The Quidditch World Cup, fantastic! I can't wait until the next one!"

"The way they fly around so fast!" came another male voice. "Wicked! I've been playing Quidditch since I was three and I still can't fly that well."

Two boys turned the corner and Tom could only stare. One was dark-haired, to whom he didn't pay attention to, but the other… The other was tall for his youth, about 5'2", with ear-length, wavy platinum hair, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing an expensive-looking, silk, blue short-sleeved polo and black trousers. He had obviously been playing some sports, for even though he was slender, he was a bit muscular.

Tom stepped out of the shadows, coming face to face with the white-haired boy. They stared at each other for a few long moments.

"Will you excuse me?" the white-haired boy said to his companion, who shrugged.

"I'll catch you at Quidditch Supplies," the boy said, leaving.

Tom still couldn't speak, his heart hammering a mile a minute inside his chest.

"Tom?" asked the white-haired boy incredulously.

Tom swallowed, finally finding his voice. It came out cold and bitter. "Surprised to see me, Vincent?"

"A – a bit," Vincent finally managed, still staring at Tom. "You've…you've changed."

Tom refrained from rolling his eyes. _Was that all they could say?_ "Well spotted. People often change after three years in hell." He glared, his voice growing icier.

Vincent shifted uneasily under Tom's gaze, glancing at the ground and then looked back up at him. "Tom…I didn't –"

"Didn't what, expect me to be special?" he spat. "Expect me to find out that I'm not just an orphan, but a wizard? To see this?" He swept his hand at Diagon Alley.

"No!" said Vincent, his eyes widening. "I just, Tom, I didn't even expect this! I tried to get them to take you too!"

"Codswallop!" snapped Tom, furious, but managing to keep his face cold. His dark eyes burned with fury, but his voice remained icy. "You got out of there and you were happy. You and Shawn both. You left me and didn't even care."

People were starting to stop, staring, but Tom ignored them.

Vincent glanced around and then looked back at Tom. "Look, Tom…"

Tom held up a hand to silence him. "Piss off, Vincent. Be happy in your new life." He glared and walked away, leaving Vincent to only stare after him.

He was still bristling from his encounter with Vincent when he entered Flourish and Blotts. Shoving Vincent from his mind, he focused on skimming the book tittles. He spotted _Hogwarts: A History_ and pulled it out. After flipping through a few pages, he smiled. _Perfect._ Setting down the package containing his robes, he checked his supply list and then tucked it away, picking up his package again. After a few minutes, he had found all the books he needed and purchased them.

Walking over to a large, comfy chair in the back of the store, he took a seat, setting down his things. Draping his long legs over the arm of the chair, he settled himself and opened _Hogwarts: A History, _and began reading.

He didn't know how much time passed when a voice said, "It's a good read, I hear." Tom looked up to see a tall, muscular teenage boy. He wore a silk black shirt and trousers and his raven hair hung neatly around his angular features. "My name's Rafe Lestrange." He held out his hand.

"Tom Riddle," said Tom, taking his hand and shaking it. He put his book away, sitting up. "You've read the book?"

Rafe nodded, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "Read it back in my first-year. Always helps to know the history of your school," he smirked.

"What year are you?"

"Fifth. I got my Prefect badge this year, of course. Are you a first-year? Because I can't say I've seen you before."

"Yes, I'm a first year."

"What house do you want to be in?"

Tom quickly ran through what he had just read and picked out a house that had stuck in his mind. "Slytherin."

Rafe smirked. "Good choice. I'm in Slytherin, best house in Hogwarts, in my opinion. My brother, Randolph, is a first-year this year. I'm sure he'll be Sorted into Slytherin. You're a pure-blood, right?"

Again, Tom had to scan his memory, thinking back to his readings. _Pure-blood…they said that Slytherin was a house for pure-bloods…but that's only if both your parents are wizarding…so I'm what…a half-blood? _ The word sounded distasteful and already Tom hated it.

"Does it matter, so long as you have power?"

Rafe shrugged. "Power is one thing. Lineage is another. Only pure-bloods get into Slytherin."

_We'll see about that,_ thought Tom, but he only said "I should think so." He spotted a young girl standing a few feet away, her face simultaneously cross and sullen, with heavy brows and a long, pallid face. "Who's that?"

Rafe looked to the girl and then back to Tom. "Eileen Prince. She's a fifth year and the other Prefect in Slytherin. Strange girl. She's always busy with some sort of potion. Not exactly someone to be seen with."

Tom looked at her for a few more moments, watching as she flipped through a book. Then he looked back at Rafe. "I'll keep that in mind." He stood, finding himself almost as tall as Rafe. "I'll see you at school."

"Possibly before-hand," said Rafe. As Tom headed for the door, Rafe called, "Oi!" When Tom turned back, Rafe said, "If you're looking for an interesting place to go, check out Knockturn Alley." He smirked and walked behind a bookshelf, disappearing from sight.

Tom wondered what Knockturn Alley was, but figured he might as well investigate it. Anything to stay in the wizarding world longer. He left the bookstore and walked down the street, entering Ollivander's. The shop was narrow and shabby, and the window display was a faded purple cushion upon which sat a single wand. That was what those sticks where that Tom had seen Dumbledore and Elisabeth use: wands.

Tom walked inside, looking around the shop. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with thousands of narrow boxes and the only furniture was a single, spindly chair.

"Hello there." Tom looked to see an older man, with eerie moon-like eyes, walk out from between two rows of boxes.

"Hi." Tom figured this man must be Mr. Ollivander. He was curious if this man had made all the wands in the shop, but he would have had to been quite old. _Anything's possible here, I suppose,_ he thought.

"Here to buy a wand? Well of course you are," the old man continued, without allowing Tom to answer. "Now, can't say I've seen you around before. What's your name?"

"Tom Riddle."

"Riddle…no, can't say I've heard of the name. Muggle-born I suppose."

"My father was a wizard," he said coldly.

"Oh?" Ollivander's eyebrows rose questioningly. "Well, then perhaps he didn't purchase his wand here. Nevertheless, I'll find the wand that suits you. Yes, yes." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"I'm left-handed," said Tom. Tom caught the flicker of surprise on Ollivander's face and frowned. "What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just an unusual trait. Hold up your left arm, then." Tom did so and watched as Ollivander measure him from his shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. "Every wand has the core of a powerful magical substance and you'll find that no two of my wands are alike. Nor any witch or wizard for that matter."

Tom was beginning to become annoyed with the tape measure as it flitted around, measuring every inch of him. Ollivander had wandered into the rows of boxes, pulling out various ones. He glared at the tape measure and watched as it fell to the floor with a 'THUNK'. Tom smirked and then watched as Ollivander came back, holding out a dark colored wand.

"Try this. Ash and dragon heartstring. Ten inches. Take it and give it a wave." Tom did so and watched as several boxes came flying out of the walls, crashing to the floor. "Nope." Ollivander gave him another wand. "Oak and unicorn hair. Nine inches." When Tom waved this wand, nothing happened and Ollivander snatched the wand from his grasp. This continued until Ollivander finally presented him with a long, beautifully carved wand. He seemed to take special care in handing it to Tom. "Now this wand. It's an unusually powerful wand, haven't found the right owner yet. Made out of yew. Yew trees are known for their long lives and symbolize death, but also resurrection. Very curious wand, thirteen and a half inches, with a single phoenix tail feather. Of course, the wand chooses its wizard, so I'll be curious to see if this one chooses you."

Tom took the wand and felt a shiver run through him. Golden sparks flew out of the tip of the wand and Ollivander gave Tom a curious look. "It seems that this wand has chosen its wizard, after hundreds of years. Very curious, for you to be destined for this particular wand."

"How much?" asked Tom, having had about enough of the strange old man.

"Seven Galleons." Tom handed him the money, took his wand, and left.

As he walked down the street, he thought back to his wand. _Unusually powerful,_ he thought with a smirk. _Perfect. _He passed by an alleyway and saw a sign reading "Knockturn Alley." It was already beginning to get dark and though Tom wanted to explore the alley, the one Rafe had mentioned, he knew he had to get back. Hugging his packages to his chest, he made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron. He would read all his books as soon as possible, wanting to know as much as he could about the wizarding world. Then he would return, to explore Knockturn Alley, buy the rest of his supplies, and meet more Hogwarts students. He would show Vincent. He would show him how powerful he really was and in the end, Vincent would pay. Tom couldn't wait.


	12. Discovery

_**A/N:** Disclaimer: the tarot information is from._

_ I think you might see a few more ...familiar places ;) _

_Enjoy! Review! I'd love to know what you think _

_**

* * *

**_

_**Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall**_

**Part Two: The Beginning**

**Chapter Eleven-**

**- Discovery-**

_He was standing by Vincent in the shadows. He looked around, startled to discover that he was in a graveyard. He recognized it as a graveyard in Little Hangleton, the town near the nunnery. Cracked tombstones stuck haphazardly out of the rough ground, covering a rolling hill. In the distance was what looked like a dark fortress, but he couldn't make it out exactly. He went to ask Vincent what was going on, but Vincent was staring at something. Tom turned, following Vincent's gaze to a tall, hooded figure. He felt something sear through his body and he was screaming, but no sounds were coming out._

_Then it was over and the graveyard was empty once again. He spun to face Vincent, but Vincent was gone. A strong gust swept through the graveyard, swirling fallen leaves into the air and chilling him to the bone. He shivered, rubbing his arms, looking around. _

"_Tom…"_

_Tom spun. "Who's there!" Nothing but the wind answered him, sending another icy gust his way. _

"_Tom…" _

_Tom spun, seeing Sister Mary. She looked sad and he didn't understand why. "Sister Mary?" He reached out but then she disappeared. Then Shawn and Vincent appeared to his left. "Why are you here? Tell me!" he demanded. They just shook their heads, disappointment on their faces. Then suddenly hooded black robes appeared over them. As Tom looked around, he was startled to see that there were many hooded black robed figures. He heard crackling and a blinding light filled his vision. Fire. The heat singed his hair and he could feel his skin blistering. Through the flames, as they turned a bright green, he watched in shock as the robed figures bowed to him._

"_Tom…"_

"Tom!"

"No, get off me!" he yelled, shoving at whatever was touching him. Then he bolted awake, breathing hard, sweat trickling down his forehead. As his vision cleared, he saw Mrs. Cole standing beside his bed. "What do you want?"

"Did you buy all your things for that school?"

Still trying to clear his head of the dream, he didn't answer for a few moments. Then he thought back to the list of school supplies. "Not yet."

"Well you better get a move on. You leave tomorrow." She turned, leaving the room.

Tom glared after her. _Mad old cat. What's she doing waking me up? Bet she's glad to be rid of me. Can't wait until I'm off to that school, just so she doesn't have to put up with me. Well I'll show her. I'll show all of them. I'll become the most powerful wizard there ever was. And then I can make them all pay. _ He threw off his blankets, leaving them in a heap at the end of the bed. He swung his legs to the side, standing, and went to the washroom. After cleaning up, he dressed in his usual gray clothing, common to all the orphans, and ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced at his wardrobe where his box of trophies still lay. _I suppose I should get rid of them, apologize so Dumbledore will leave me alone._ He smirked. _And I know just how I'll do it._ He walked over to the wardrobe, opening it. On the door of the wardrobe hung a calendar, on which he had been marking down the days until he left for Hogwarts. He couldn't believe that July and August had passed so quickly and he had desperately wanted to return to Diagon Alley. However, they had gone on their longer summer trip to a camp, which meant that Tom was away from London. Not like he could do anything about it. They had arrived back in London the previous night, so now he had to go finish his school shopping.

He crossed out that day, smiling in excitement at seeing September 1st for the next day. _I can't wait._ He turned to his box of trophies, reaching up and pulling it down off its shelf. During the trip, he had continued to refine his powers, controlling objects, people, animals, the lot. However, he kept his wand hidden in an old trunk that he had found in the upstairs attic. It was nestled among his robes and other school things. He had read _Hogwarts: A History_ at least a dozen times and had it memorized. There were a few things that interested him, such as the founder of Slytherin house: Salazar Slytherin. He had been left-handed and what they called a Parselmouth: someone that could speak to snakes. But that would have to wait until he got to school, where he'd have access to hundreds of books.

He walked over to his bed, dumping out the contents of his trophy box onto the sheets. Then he took each one and wrapped a bit of paper around it, writing "_Sorry_." _Not,_ thought Tom with a smirk. Glancing outside, he saw that the sun was out, meaning that most of the children would be outdoors. _Perfect._

It took him the better part of an hour to return all the objects, setting them in each owner's room. He was walking down the hall, having just left Rudolph's room (returning the mouth organ), when he heard a scream. Margaret had obviously found her shoelaces. Tom stepped back, keeping his face expressionless as she tore down the hall, her hands red and blistered. Once she was past, he snickered and returned to his room. The way he figured it, it wasn't exactly doing magic. He wasn't using his wand and he just wanted her to be hurt. He had done it in the past and if he was questioned, he'd just say it was an accident. How was he supposed to control it?

Smirking, he threw away the empty cardboard box and went to the trunk at the foot of his bed. Crouching down, he unlatched it and pulled out his supply list. _Just my things for potions and my cauldron to get,_ he thought. He closed the trunk and stood. Without a backwards glance, he left the orphanage, heading to London.

However, even as he walked down Diagon Alley, his dream still plagued him. He hadn't had a dream like that for over three years and now suddenly it was back, and even more horrible. _What does it all mean?_ He thought. Frowning, he entered the Apothecary. The disgusting smells overwhelmed him and he bought his supplies quickly, not wanting to be in there any longer than he had to. After buying his cauldron, he walked past the Emporium, where various owls sat perched in cages. He bit his lip, stopping. _I want an owl…but I don't think I can afford one yet. _ He reached into his pocket, pulling out the remainder of his money. Only one Galleon and a few Sickles sat in his palm. He sighed and pocked the money.

He turned to walk away when someone ran into him. "Oh! I'm sorry!" said the person.

Tom looked down and his eyes widened. The boy was a good foot shorter than him, with straw-colored hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in a dark red sweater and a black cloak with silver fastenings. But it was Shawn. It was definitely Shawn.

Shawn was staring up at Tom as well, his mouth hanging open. "T- Tom!"

Tom shook the shock from his face and replaced it by a cool exterior. "Hello."

"I – it's so good to see you! But how – what – you're a wizard too!" he asked excitedly.

Tom's face remained expressionless. "Looks about right." _So Shawn's a wizard too…I wonder if the McEriths were a wizarding family, I bet they were. Working for the "Ministry." Ministry of Magic, no doubt. _Shawn had definitely changed from the lost boy he had known three years ago. He looked healthier, happy, and the most notable difference was the fact that Shawn was talking far more than before.

" – aunt and uncle! I actually have family! It's amazing. The McEriths…my family! My parents were Unspeakables, for the Department of Mysteries, which is why they died…but I have family! And Vincent –"

"Good for you. Bye." He glared slightly and turned, beginning to walk down the street.

"Tom! Wait!" Shawn ran after Tom, running in front of him. "I really missed you," he said quietly.

Tom looked down at him, fury bubbling inside him. "You could have wrote me."

"I – " Shawn looked crestfallen and guilty. "I'm sorry, Tom." Tom didn't answer, shoving past Shawn and walking down the street. Shawn looked sadly after him, his shoulders slightly slumped. _I…I really did miss him,_ thought Shawn. _He's changed so much…_

"Shawn!"

Shawn turned to see a tall, dark-haired woman standing just outside the Emporium with a caged owl in her hands. Eloise McErith, Shawn's aunt. "Coming!" He glanced back at where Tom had disappeared into the crowed and then ran back to his aunt

* * *

_So this is Knockturn Alley,_ thought Tom as he looked up and down the dark street. Men and women in hooded cloaks huddled in corners, whispering to each other. He drew several stares as he walked past but he ignored them. One man leered at him and Tom just gazed at him coldly, continuing to walk. He wasn't even remotely scared. _Besides, I can make them hurt if I want to,_ he thought with a smirk. 

"You seem troubled my dear," came a croaky voice from within the shadows.

Tom looked to see an old woman standing in the shadows, hunched over and clutching a black shawl around her bony shoulders. She wore vast amounts of jewelry and held tarot cards in her free hand. "I'm not interested, sorry," he said and went to walk away.

"Your dreams, Tom. They mean something."

He spun around, trying to hide his surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"You know…" She gave him a mysterious smile.

"How do you know my name? Tell me!"

"Come." She beckoned with one long finger and he followed her down a small alley to a corner shop. She sat down behind a table covered with a red tablecloth. She set down her deck of cards and took his hand in hers, turning it over. Her skin was rough and he frowned, watching her. She shook her head as she ran a single finger over his palm. "Curious."

"What's curious?"

"Your future is shadowed, but one thing is clear. It will be painful. You will suffer greatly at the hands of another. Your dreams mean something, Tom, don't forget them." She looked up at him, her eyes seeming to pierce his soul. "The robed men. The graveyard. The fire. It's all connected." She let go of his hand. "You have a long life ahead of you, if you play your cards correctly."

He eyed her warily. "How do you know all of this?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she picked up her tarot deck and set them out. "Choose."

He looked over the row of brightly colored cards and then selected a card. "That one." _This is a waste of my time._

"It's not a waste. You'll see."

He looked up at her, startled. "How –"

She just gave him her mysterious smile again and looked at the card he had selected. "Ah, the King of Swords. Shows a mature leader of indisputable authority and unwavering ethics. Whether they be good or bad. Your devotion to carrying out law cannot by swayed by emotion or material concerns. Perfect clarity of thought, directness of action, and eloquence of speech. One who inspires trust and loyalty. Very curious choice, Tom." She pulled the cards into her deck. "Now ask a question."

Tom thought about it and then asked, "What's my future?" He knew what he wanted, but if this woman really knew what she was doing, perhaps she could give him some insight in how to achieve his goals.

"A common question. We'll see what happens." She set out the cards in a plus sign formation. She looked at the cards with obvious interest. "Well then…this is rather interesting. You see this card?" She pointed to the center card. "This is the Wheel of Fortune. The path of destiny; karma on a grand scale. You will have an unexpected turn of good fortune; a link in a chain of events. Success, luck, and happiness."

Tom arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. _Good fortune, hm? Maybe I'll be able to find out about my family…_

"The card on the top, the King of Cup, represents great maturity. One who intuitively knows the strengths of those around him and gently cultivates them. Remaining calm and relaxed in all situations and making artful use of diplomacy or a quiet word to resolve conflicts."

_Well I don't know about patience,_ he thought. _That card is nutters, not very spot on for me._

"The card on the left," she continued, "is your emotions. The Queen of Wands. It shows someone who is always at the center of attention, who reflects the desires and ambitions of others, and ignites them. A radiantly vital person, charismatic, who sees what they want and goes after it."

_Now that's a little more like it,_ he thought.

"The bottom card represents your thoughts. The Ace of Cups. The seed of a new relationship or spiritual journey – perhaps as yet unseen. An opportunity for joy, contentment, or enlightenment. May represent an unexpected message, a chance meeting, or the start of a friendship. The card on the right shows what will happen in the end. The Seven of Cups, Temptation. It shows your daydreams and things seen in the glass of contemplation. The scattering of energies by strong desires and unrealistic goals. The pursuit of illusions and the dissipation of energy on false choices. Intoxication, delirium, and hallucination, leading to the negation of effort. Under rare and extreme circumstances, it may indicate the revelation of transcendental spiritual truth."

She looked up at him. "Your cards never lie. Even if this isn't what you are now, it is what you could become. There are many conflicts within you and it will be up to you to choose the right path."

He stood, his gaze narrowing. "It's rubbish. I don't believe any of it." However, inside, a few words still stayed with him, ringing their truth in his mind. He turned, walking away, trying to shake what the woman had told him. _Seven…important magical number. I remember reading about that. But how – how could she know about my dreams? Some of that tarot stuff was right, but still – _He shook his thoughts away, heading out of Knockturn Alley. He had had quite enough for the moment.

After checking to make sure he had bought all his supplies, he headed out of Diagon Alley and back to the orphanage.

* * *

Tom spent most of the night awake, too excited to sleep. He kept a candle lit by his bed so that he could continue to read his books. However, thoughts of his dreams, the tarot reader, and Shawn plagued his mind. _So Shawn has a family…those two people were his aunt and uncle…_ He felt a surge of fury run through his body at the thought of it. _They get to leave me and be so happy. It's not fair. So he said he tried to write me. That's codswallop. I hate them. I hate them both._

He clenched his fist so hard that his nails dug into the skin of his palm. He ignored the stinging pain that resulted and just glared into the darkness. As he sat there, he slowly calmed down and a new plan began to form in his mind. He'd bide his time. Hogwarts was going to be brand new, no one would know him and therefore no one could judge him. If he played his cards right, he'd be able to charm the professors, and thereby getting access to all the information he desired about his family. He would find his father and he would make him pay for leaving his mother, even if she was weak. After all, she died. Death was a human weakness and something that Tom would figure out how to avoid, somehow, if there was any way possible.

Eight a.m. didn't come soon enough, in Tom's opinion, and he was already out the door as soon as it came. He reached King's Cross Station, tugging the heavy trunk up the stairs. Once he was inside, he set his trunk onto a trolley and made his way onto the platforms.

"9 and ¾…" he muttered, checking to make sure his ticket was right. "There's only 9 and 10." He looked between the two stone columns, quite confused. He checked inside the envelope to see if there were more instructions on how to find the platform, but there wasn't.

"Minerva! Now! Stop dossing about and get to the platform!" called a sharp voice. Tom looked to see a dark-haired, portly, middle-aged woman with her hands on her hips, obviously frustrated. A young, teenage girl, with shoulder-length brown hair and dark eyes, crouched by her trolley, fixing a package.

"It came loose, mum, I didn't want to lose it," the girl said, standing and looking at her mother. Her eyes landed on Tom, who still hadn't moved. Then she looked back to her mother. "We still have an hour."

"If you want Prefect, you'll want to always be early," her mother chided. "Now come along. The train won't wait all day." The girl sighed and pushed her trolley towards one of the stone columns between Platform 9 and 10. She glanced around and then to his shock, walked right through the wall!

Tom stared after her and then looked at the woman, who was about to go through the wall. "Wait!"

The woman looked at him inquisitively. "Can I help you?"

_No time like the present,_ he thought with an inward smirk. On the outside, however, he kept the look on his face innocent and confused. "I'm supposed to go to Platform 9 and ¾, but I don't know how. Do you just walk through that wall?"

The woman's face softened and she smiled. "Just walk right through, but don't think about it. It tends to be a bit easier that way."

He nodded. "Thanks." He forced a small smile on his face, looking every bit the appreciative youth. Then he pushed his trolley towards the wall, checking to make sure no one was watching, and closed his eyes just before he reached the wall.

The next thing he heard was a whistle blowing and the sounds of excited chatter. He opened his eyes and his mouth dropped open as he looked around. There, on the tracks, sat a scarlet train, with the words "Hogwarts Express" on the front. Standing on the platform were hundreds of people: parents saying goodbye to their children, friends reuniting and students boarding the train. He pushed his trolley forward slowly, taking in the sights. He felt a little out of place with his raggedy clothing, but perhaps he could use that to his advantage. He'd change into his robes as soon as he got a seat on the train, that way no one could judge him on his appearance.

He made his way into the queue for boarding the train and recognized the girl from the other side. She stood next to him, her hand on her trolley, a book in her other. She noticed him looking at her and looked up. "Hello."

"Hi," he responded, glancing at the book she was reading. "What are you reading?"

"_Old and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charms,_" she answered. "It's a good read. I'm Minerva Mullhoney, by the way," she added with a smile. "This is my third year and I plan on making Prefect in two."

He nodded. "I'm Tom Riddle."

"Good to meet you." They slowly made their way closer to the train.

"What house are you in?" he asked curiously.

"Gryffindor. Are you just starting this year?"

"Yes." As they reached the train, a tall, thin man helped them remove their trunks from their trolleys. He pushed the trolleys off to one side and went to the next group of students.

Tom and Minerva made their way onto the train. "Well, this is me," she said, stopping in front of a compartment. "I'll see you at the Sorting." She smiled and went into her compartment.

He made his way down the corridor. The compartment door to his right opened and a boy stepped out. Tom recognized him as Rafe Lestrange, the boy he had met in Flourish and Blotts earlier that summer.

"Oi! Tom, how are you?" he asked with a smile. He smirked slightly. "Did you check out Knockturn Alley?"

"Yes. It was interesting."

"As it would be." He motioned to the compartment he had just exited. "Have a seat. Abraxas, Alphard and Procyon will be here shortly. Randolph is already in there."

"Thanks." He made his way into the compartment and saw a boy sitting in there, who looked very similar to Rafe. Randolph had short, black hair, dark eyes, and was slightly darker than his older brother. He wore a black sweater, trousers and a cloak with the Hogwarts Crest on it.

"Hi," Randolph said with a smile.

"Hi." Tom crouched down, opening his trunk. He pulled out black trousers, a gray sweater and one of his black robes.

"You're…Tom, right?"

"That's right." Tom closed the compartment door and quickly changed, feeling far more comfortable in the nicer clothing. He shut his trunk after packing his clothes away and shoved it under the seat. He sat down across from Randolph, leaning against the wall with the window. "You're a first year?"

"Yes. You?"

"Same."

"I'm going to be in Slytherin," Randolph said, folding his arms behind his head and propping his feet on the seat across from him.

"How do you know? You haven't been Sorted yet."

"My entire family's been in Slytherin, so I'll be in it. Best house." Randolph smirked. "What about you? What house has your family been in?"

"I don't think the house matters, so long as you're in the right house."

Randolph looked thoughtful, his gaze seeming to see right through Tom. "You're not a pureblood, are you." It was a statement.

Tom didn't see the point in lying. Besides, he had a gift for manipulation and he knew how to turn the situation to his favor. He had been doing it for years. "I'm an orphan, didn't know my parents."

"Oh." Randolph looked like he wanted to say something else but at that moment, the door opened. Four boys walked in. They were Rafe, Alphard, and two boys Tom didn't know. One was about two inches taller than Alphard, with wavy dark brown hair and hazel eyes. The other was the tallest out of all four, standing nearly at six feet in height. He had long, shoulder-length white-blond hair that had been bound back by a leather strap. His eyes were piercing silver and his angular features gave him an aristocratic look.

"Tom, this is Abraxas Malfoy," said Rafe, motioning to the white-haired boy. "He's a fifth year with me. And this," he said, motioning to the brown-haired boy, "is Procyon Black, Alphard's older brother, who's in his second year."

They all greeted each other and took their seats. Alphard and Procyon sat next to Tom and Abraxas and Rafe sat next to Randolph.

"So, Tom, what was your last name again?" asked Abraxas, arching an eyebrow.

"Riddle." Tom kept his voice calm and cool, his face expressionless.

"I see. Can't say I've heard of many Riddles."

"I didn't know my parents, but I plan on finding out has much as I can," said Tom.

"You're not a Mudblood, are you?" scowled Abraxas.

Tom wasn't sure exactly what that was but it sounded distasteful. "No," he responded.

"Good," said Abraxas, leaning back in his seat.

"Don't mind him," said Rafe, jabbing his thumb towards Abraxas. "He's harmless."

"Until you get him mad," smirked Procyon.

Tom smiled slightly and looked out the window as the boys fell into conversation. The scenery was passing by quickly and Tom had an urge to explore. He had never been on a train before so this was all interesting to him.

"I'm starved," came Alphard's voice, breaking Tom out of his thoughts. "Anyone want to track down the trolley with me?"

Tom looked over at him. "I'll go." He stood.

"I think I just might too," said Randolph, standing.

"Bring us back something," said Rafe.

"Get it yourself," retorted Randolph with a smirk. Tom followed the two boys out into the corridor. People were walking down the hall, entering and exiting compartments.

"So, Tom, did you live in the wizarding world?" asked Randolph.

Tom looked at Randolph, who was nearly a foot shorter than him. _Seems he just has to know everything, _thought Tom. "No, a Muggle orphanage."

Randolph looked disgusted. "A Muggle orphanage?" He sneered. "How quaint."

"I'm sure it had to have been horrible, right Tom?" asked Alphard and Tom felt a little more at ease. Randolph had the annoying habit, it seemed, of trying to put Tom on the defense. It was rather pathetic and Tom wouldn't fall pretty that easily.

"I'm just glad to be out of there," said Tom honestly. Someone bumped into him as they passed and Randolph rounded on them.

"Watch it," snapped Randolph.

"Sorry," the boy said and then looked at Tom. "I see you've made friends."

Tom looked at Vincent coolly. "You sound like you didn't expect it."

Vincent just looked at him for a few moments. Then he said, "See you at school," and pushed past them, heading down the corridor.

"Well that was awkward," said Alphard. He looked at Tom. "Who was that?"

"Former best friend," said Tom. "He chose the wrong path." But as he spoke, he was looking at Randolph, who had a curious expression on his face. "Randolph?"

"What's wrong, mate?" asked Alphard.

Randolph looked at them. "Didn't you notice it?" He directed the question to Alphard.

"Notice what?" asked Alphard.

"I could have sworn that bloke was a Malfoy, but I didn't think that Abraxas has a brother."

"He's an orphan," said Tom. "He was adopted a few years ago."

"Huh." Randolph shook his head. "Strange." He frowned, looking where Vincent had gone.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?" asked a voice from behind them. They turned to see an older woman pushing a trolley stocked with various sweets.

"Two chocolate frogs and a Pumpkin Pasty for me," said Alphard, handing the woman some money.

"A pack of licorice wands and cauldron cakes," said Randolph.

Once they had bought their sweets, the woman looked at Tom, who shook his head. "No thanks," he said. She continued on her way as they stepped aside to allow her to pass.

"Let's head back," said Randolph and they made their way back towards the compartment.

"Here," said Alphard, handing Tom a chocolate frog. "You'll like it." He smiled.

Tom managed a smile back. "Thanks." He waited until they took their seats in the compartment and then opened his treat. It tasted amazing and he finished it quickly, relishing the chocolate flavor.

"You wouldn't believe who we ran into," said Randolph. "Abraxas, I swear he could have been your brother."

Abraxas looked at him as Alphard handed him the Pumpkin Pasty. He opened the package and took a bite. "Is that so?"

"It's true," said Alphard. "He could have been your twin."

Rafe stole one of Abraxas' pumpkin pasties. Abraxas glared at him. "Another Malfoy?" he asked, interested.

"Thought you were an only child," said Procyon, looking at Abraxas.

Abraxas looked around at them. "No, I have a younger brother. His name is Vincent." Tom barely hid his shock. _His brother?_ He thought in surprise. "He was taken away for certain reasons and my parents finally found him. Actually, it was a few years ago when they found him, but they didn't bring him back until this year. Talked to him quite a bit though, always visiting. Father said something about 'it's not time yet for him to come back' or something. I don't understand it, but I suppose he's still family, even if he was brought up in filthy Muggle surroundings," sneered Abraxas.

"You said you knew him, Tom?" asked Alphard.

"He was adopted by the McEriths," said Tom, not really wanting to talk about Vincent. It was bad enough that Vincent had left him, but the fact that Vincent had had a family and the Malfoys, of all families…that was more than enough. _No wonder he was wearing nice clothes,_ thought Tom bitterly. _Didn't even care to check up on his supposed best friend._

"The McEriths…my father works with them in the Ministry," said Procyon. "They're Unspeakables."

"Those are the secret Aurors, aren't they?" asked Randolph.

"Right," said Rafe. "No one knows what they do."

"Father is always gone," said Procyon.

"So what do you think of him. Your brother I mean?" asked Alphard.

Abraxas looked indifferent. "He's alright, I suppose. So long as he doesn't shame our family."

"You think he'll be a Slytherin?" asked Rafe.

"He better be." Abraxas' gaze narrowed. "Anything else is unacceptable."

* * *

As the sky darkened outside, the students moved to get dressed for their arrival. Abraxas, Rafe, and Procyon were all Slytherins, of course, and Alphard, Randolph and Tom just wore plain school robes with the Hogwarts crest embroidered upon them. 

Tom was quiet for most of the time, just listening to the other boys talk. He had a book out, _Magical Theory_, the text required for Charms. It was something he had read countless times already, but though his eyes were on the pages, he was making observations about the compartment's inhabitants.

If there was one gift he had that wasn't magic related, it was his ability to observe and manipulate to his advantage. Just from the train ride, he had noted several facts. Rafe was pleasant so long as you shared the same ideals, same with Abraxas. However, Abraxas had the tendency to frown upon anything different, where as Rafe would at least give people a chance. Randolph was suspicious by nature and obviously trusted no one, which was something Tom agreed with. Trust was for the weak-minded. Alphard was a good person overall, but he was naïve in certain areas and tended to befriend too easily. Procyon was more of an observer, more thoughtful, but he knew what he was doing.

Tom had a plan for Hogwarts and if he played his cards right, he'd go far.

He felt the train come to a stop and everyone stood, collecting their things. "I can't wait!" said Alphard with a grin as they exited the train. Their things would be taken to the school and put in their dormitories. Tom was used to doing everything himself but he didn't mind having some things taken care of. That way he could focus on more important tasks. _Hogwarts,_ he thought as they stood in the group of other first-years. _You will know my name and remember it._


	13. Hogwarts

**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part Two: The Beginning**

**Chapter Twelve-**

**- Hogwarts-**

Tom heard gasps of awe around him as they turned the bend. Ogg, the current gamekeeper of Hogwarts, was making his way down to the inky black lake. The moon shone down on the still water, making it shimmer. But what was most impressive was the enormous castle on the other side of the water. It was awe inspiring with its tall towers and size. Several windows were lit, making it feel more welcoming. Tom could feel excitement beginning to build inside him, searing through every part of his body. _Bloody hell,_ thought Tom, thoroughly impressed by the castle. _ I can't wait!_

"Into the boats, four to a boat," Ogg was saying. Tom glanced at the older, burly man, and then climbed into a boat with Randolph and Alphard.

"Do you have room for one more?" asked a quiet voice.

Tom turned to see Shawn standing there. He wanted to snap at him, but to keep up appearances, he only said, "Sure."

The three boys shifted to allow Shawn to take a seat. "Thanks," said Shawn gratefully.

Alphard smiled. "You're welcome. I'm Alphard Black."

"Shawn McErith."

Alphard's eyes widened. "Bloody hell…are your parents the Unspeakables that everyone's always talking about?"

A flicker of sadness appeared on Shawn's face. "My parents are dead," he said quietly, looking down at his hands. His perfectly clean hands, just how his mother liked them. He still had his worn picture of them in his pocket. It never left his side. "I live with my aunt and uncle."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Alphard, looking honestly saddened.

"Well, I don't see what the big deal is," said Randolph as the boats began to move.

Tom didn't say anything, turning his back to Shawn and looking at the castle. _He's no friend of mine,_ thought Tom.

"Give over, Randolph," said Alphard, scowling. "He's a pureblood."

Randolph glared at him. "He's a McErith."

Alphard just rolled his eyes. "You're only sore because you were beaten by Philip McErith last year in Quidditch."

"I am not," snapped Randolph.

Tom glanced back at them just in time to see Randolph shove Alphard, who fell, bumping into Shawn. Within seconds, Shawn was suddenly knocked into the water, disappearing under the black curtain.

There was a split second that Tom seriously considered just leaving him in the water. Someone would eventually get him out. But then something inside Tom flickered and he reached down into the water. He felt Shawn's shirt within his grasp and hauled a coughing Shawn back onto the boat, falling backwards. Shawn landed partially on top of him and Tom freed himself, barely restraining a scowl. _Why the hell did I just do that?_ he thought angrily.

"Shawn! I'm so sorry!" said Alphard, moving to help Shawn sit up.

Shawn coughed out some more water before saying, "I'm fine. Really."

Tom turned his back to them, moving to the front of the boat. As the castle drew closer, he was itching to get out. As soon as the boats docked, he climbed out and stared up at the castle looming over the first-years. _Amazing…_ he thought, his eyes widening.

"Follow me!" called Ogg and the first-years began to make their way down a stony path along the bank of the river. Soon they came to a great stone arch, under which they passed and stopped in front of two large doors. The doors swung open, allowing them entrance, and the first-years heading inside, whispering to each other and pointing at all the fascinating things.

"I'll take it from here, Ogg. Thank you," said a familiar voice.

Tom looked up the long, marble staircase to see Professor Dumbledore standing at the top. "Welcome," said Ogg gruffly, shuffling out the door. The doors shut with a 'THUD!', startling a few of the first-years.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face. He pulled out his wand, waving it, and a blanket appeared around Shawn. Shawn just smiled, hugging the blanket tightly around him. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Vincent maneuver his way through the crowd to Shawn. They whispered a bit and then disappeared into the crowd.

Tom was nearly a head taller than all the other first-years but for once, he felt like he belonged, in the sea of black robes.

"Follow me," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand. He turned and the first-years made their way up the stairs, following Dumbledore until they reached two great oak doors, which were closed. He turned to face them. "Now, inside is the Great Hall, during which you will attend the Sorting Ceremony. This is an ancient tradition in which you will be Sorted into your respective houses. Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. During the school year you will have chances to earn points for your house and of course, have those points taken away." Dumbledore smiled. "I believe this will be a rather interesting year." His gaze landed on Tom briefly before he turned, opening the doors with a wave of his hand.

The first-years made their way into the Great Hall and Tom just stared in wide-eyed wonder. The ceiling was amazing, with glittering stars and smoky heavens. _It's enchanted…I remember reading about it,_ he thought. He saw that there were four tables set up, at which the different Houses sat. The hall was huge, with tall, thin Gothic windows, torches and candles lighting up the room, and a long table at the front where the Professors sat. The first-years gathered around at the base of a raised platform, on which a stool and an ancient hat sat.

Suddenly, the hat began to sing:

_Oh you may smirk_

_Oh you may smile_

_But let me say_

_You're in denial_

_I'm not just_

_Any old hat_

_I'm what Sorts you_

_Just like that_

_In Gryffindor_

_Where dwell the brave_

_Or wise Ravenclaw_

_Where intellects crave_

_Could it be Slytherin_

_Where the cunning stay?_

_Or fair Hufflepuff_

_Where the loyal lay_

_Each house is different_

_But united you stand_

_If survival is key_

_Listen to the song_

_And then try me on_

"As I call your name, step up and try on the hat," said Dumbledore, pulling out a large scroll. "Amiel, Michael."

A short, blond-haired boy stepped up, taking his seat on the stool. Dumbledore set the hat down on top of his head and within a few minutes, it yelled, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Hufflepuffs cheered and applauded as Michael stepped down off the platform, taking a seat with his house.

"He's a real winner," snickered Randolph.

"Most Hufflepuffs are," smirked Alphard.

Tom didn't say anything, watching the Sorting with interest.

"Black, Alphard."

Alphard grinned. "Wish me luck." He strode up to the stool, taking his seat.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Yes!" Alphard pumped his fist into the air and rushed over to the Slytherin table, taking a seat next to Procyon.

"Carolton, Ewan."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Lavey, Payton."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Lestrange, Randolph."

Randolph looked as arrogant as ever, striding up to the stool. He sat down with a smirk on his face. The hat only waited a moment before yelling,

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherins applauded and Randolph made his way to the table, taking a seat next to Rafe and Alphard.

"Longbottom, Philip!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Lupin, Rachel!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Malfoy, Vincent!"

Tom watched as Vincent made his way to the stool, hearing whispers of "He's a Malfoy?" and "I didn't know there were _two _of them."

Vincent looked confused as the hat rested on his head and then smiled as the hat yelled,

"GRYFFINDOR!"

He hopped off the stool and made his way to the applauding Gryffindor table. Over at the Slytherin table Abraxas was scowling and looked ready to kill someone or something. Rafe whispered something to him, which only made Abraxas' scowl deepen. Some people didn't seem too sure of what had just happened. After all, the Malfoys had always been in Slytherin. Whispers of "Must be a black sheep," and "Maybe it was tricked," came across Tom's ears.

"McErith, Shawn!"

Shawn made his way slowly to the stool, sitting. Whispers raced around the hall once again, this time due to the fact that the McEriths were famous Unspeakables. It took the hat a long time before it finally shouted,

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Hufflepuffs went wild as Shawn smiled, moving to their table. He took a seat between two larger Hufflepuffs, who clapped him on the back, congratulating him.

Tom looked quickly away, not about to admit that he cared which house Shawn had been placed in. He watched as more students were sorted, two of whom were a Pettigrew who was placed in Ravenclaw and a Potter that was placed in Gryffindor. Tom thought that Daniel Potter looked too full of himself and just smirked inwardly. _He might look like that now. Just wait._

"Riddle, Tom!"

Tom looked up, realizing it was his turn. He made his way up the set of three stairs and took his seat on the stool. He felt the hat graze his head and something say in his head, _"You'll go far, young Tom. We'll be watching you."_

And then the hat yelled, "SLTYHERIN!"

Tom put a smile on his face, keeping up appearances, and made his way to the Slytherin table, where he sat across from Alphard and Randolph.

"Well done," said Rafe, smiling. "Perhaps the hat isn't as mad as we thought."

Abraxas merely nodded his approval before looking back to the ceremony. Tom turned in his seat as he watched the last students be Sorted.

"Schaffer, Sonya!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Travers, Anthony!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Finally, when at long last "Wallaby, Christopher," was called and Sorted into Gryffindor, a tall, elderly man stood from behind the Head Table.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," Headmaster Dippet said with a smile. Professor Dumbledore took his seat next to Dippet. "Enjoy the feast!" Dippet took his seat and Tom stared as piles of food suddenly appeared on the tables.

He looked at it all in shock, never having seen that much food in his life. _Bloody hell._ He started to pile his plate full of food, trying to get a piece of everything.

"You act like you haven't eaten in a week," laughed Rafe, glancing over at Tom.

"The food isn't like this in the orphanage," said Tom, taking a bite of the chicken and savoring the spicy flavor.

"I reckon I'll be spending the holidays here," said Alphard between bites. "Food's much better than home."

Procyon sipped his pumpkin juice, looking at his younger brother. "I agree but don't let mother hear you or Aunt Elladora. You never know what they'll do."

Alphard chuckled. "I won't."

"Going to try out for Quidditch, Tom?" asked Abraxas.

Tom looked at Abraxas as he took a bite of mashed potatoes. He swallowed and said, "I might."

"I'm there," said Alphard, grinning. "I can't wait."

"Well just so you know, first-years don't usually make it onto the house teams," said Abraxas, his tone slightly cool.

"Don't pay him any mind," smirked Rafe. "He's just trying to intimidate you so you won't show him up on the pitch. It wouldn't look too good for the Captain to be outplayed by a first-year."

Abraxas looked at him, his face calm. He took a sip of his drink. "Don't be so sure you'll be on the team again, Rafe."

"I'm your best player." Rafe smirked. "Besides, who thinks up all the fantastic plays?" He tapped his head with a finger. "Right here."

Alphard and Randolph chuckled and even Tom smiled slightly. They continued to eat, enjoying the banter between the two best friends.

Procyon just shook his head, watching them. "They never stop," he said, chuckling and taking a bite of his pork chops.

"Can you pass the gravy please?" asked a female voice. The boys turned to see a first-year girl with her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had dark eyes and a spatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

"Here," said Alphard, handing it to her.

"Thanks." She smiled, pouring it over her potatoes.

"You're Payton, right?" asked Randolph.

Tom glanced at Rafe, Procyon, and Abraxas, who seemed to have fallen into conversation with their other mates. He looked back at Payton, taking bites of his dinner and just listening.

"That's right," she said, still smiling.

"What do your parents do?" asked Randolph, his face cool.

Alphard elbowed him. "Stop asking so many questions."

"No, it's fine," chuckled Payton. "My parents are Hit Wizards."

"Bloody hell, that's cool," said Alphard with a grin. "Do they really go after all those dangerous criminals?"

Payton nodded. "They're gone most of the time, so I'm glad to finally be coming to Hogwarts. It gets rather boring in the manor."

"I heard the Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, is sending them after someone named Grindelwald? Is that true?" asked Randolph curiously.

"I don't know about that. I've heard some things," said Payton.

"I think so," said Alphard, looking at Randolph. "I heard my parents mention something about him after they came back from their last mission."

"You're parents are Unspeakables, aren't they?" asked Payton.

Alphard grinned. "That's right. Pretty wicked, eh?"

"Very."

"You think Grindelwald will be a Dark Lord?" asked Randolph randomly.

"I don't think he's smart enough," said Tom, sitting back. He was stuffed and couldn't eat another bite.

They looked at him, startled. "Blimey, Tom, forgot you were there," chuckled Alphard. "You're so quiet."

Tom merely smiled slightly.

"What do you know of him?" asked Payton.

Tom was about to answer when the food disappeared from the tables, replaced by various sweets. The Headmaster stood and all attention was drawn to him. The Great Hall was silent except for the sounds of munching on sweets.

"Now that you've all eaten," Dippet said. "Let's get to the necessities." He smoothed his dark red robe and folded his hands in front of his body. He smiled, looking at all the students. Tom thought he looked rather silly, with his curly white beard and cockeyed wizard hat. The colors didn't match his robes. "The caretaker, Mr. Pringle, would like me to inform you that you're not to be performing spells in the corridors or any pranks. I would like to add that I do not want to see any of you wandering around the Forbidden Forest. There are some dangerous creatures within those trees and it's not wise to tread on their territory. Now," he said, clapping his hands together. "Quidditch tryouts will be in three weeks and tomorrow you get your schedules. Off to bed with you!"

Tom thought the man seemed rather childish, with the smile on his face and the clapping of his hands. _But I could use that to my advantage,_ he thought as he stood. Regrettably, all the sweets disappeared from the long tables and the students made their way out of the hall. Tom glanced back at the Head Table, catching a few of the professors' eyes. They were whispering about something, glancing at him. He frowned but turned, following the rest of his housemates.


	14. The Heir of Slytherin

**_Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall_ **

**Part Two: The Beginning**

**Chapter Thirteen-**

**- The Heir of Slytherin-**

Tom was silent as the Slytherins made their way out of the Great Hall. He looked up in awe at the moving staircases. Students made their way up the stairs and had to pause when several staircases shifted. The walls were covered in thousands of moving portraits and Tom could only look around in wonder.

"Gryffindors, this way," called a tall, brown haired boy. His Prefect badge shone in the light and Tom thought, _I'll have one of those when I'm a fifth year. _

The Slytherins stopped, allowing a group of students to pass. Several Slytherins leered and called out snide remarks to the Gryffindors. They retorted back and two boys, one from each house, almost got into a nasty row. However, one of the Professors walked out at that moment and the two boys stepped back, scowling at each other.

"Gryffindor and Slytherin are fierce rivals," said a voice and Tom looked over to see a boy with strawberry blond hair, blue eyes, and Slytherin robes denoting him as at least a second year. Even though Tom was younger then him, they stood at the same height. "The name's Malcolm Travers. I'm a third year." The boy smiled.

Tom smiled slightly back. "Tom Riddle."

"Good to meet you," said Malcolm as they began walking again. They turned a corner, heading down a corridor.

"We're not up there?" asked Tom.

"Nope. Dungeons for us," chuckled Malcolm. "Only Gryffindor and Ravenclaw live in the towers."

Tom nodded, looking around at the portrait covered walls. They headed down a set of stairs and Tom noted that the ceiling was arched high above their heads. This corridor was darker, with torches encased in marble columns lining the path. The walls were slightly damp and stony, matching the floor.

"So the rivalry is that bad?" asked Tom.

Malcolm nodded. "Quidditch is even worse. People have been sent to the hospital wing plenty of times during and after matches."

Tom arched an eyebrow. "Really…"

"But after all," continued Malcolm with a shrug, "the house rivalry has been like this from the beginning."

"True." They were quiet for a few moments. Then Tom asked, "So what do you know about Salazar Slytherin?"

"Have you heard about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Read bout it in _Hogwarts: A History,_"

Malcolm chuckled. "Read that huge thing, have you?"

"Twice."

"Well, then you know the whole legend, what with the Heir of Slytherin and all."

"What do you know about it?" asked Tom, deciding to see how much information he could glean from Malcolm. Even thought he knew a little, he could make it appear as though he knew enough but was just trying to get another's viewpoint on it.

"I heard –" Malcolm stopped as the group came to halt before a large portrait of a man in a top hat and fancy black dress robes. He carried a silver staff with him and his gaze was piercing.

"Password?" asked the portrait coolly.

"Pureblood," said Rafe, the Prefect leading the first-years.

"I should hope so," responded the portrait before swinging open and allowing them to pass into a dim corridor. They entered an enormous room with an arched ceiling. The stone walls were covered in dark green tapestries and the entire room looked elegant. On either end of the room were two tall, Gothic windows, but they looked more like decorations then something to allow light to pass. Most of the floor was smooth stones but where there was carpet, it was plush and rich looking. A vast fireplace crackled with welcoming flames along one wall, with comfortable-looking black leather furniture scattered about the room in semi-circles. Above the fireplace there was an intimidating portrait of Salazar Slytherin. Tom found himself caught in Salazar's gaze.

It took a few moments before he snapped out of it, turning to see the older students moving into their own groups, lounging around the common room. On the far wall were two areas for studying, with tables and bookshelves stuffed with old books. Between the two areas were twin staircases, going off in opposite directions.

"Now," Rafe was saying. Tom turned to the Prefect, listening. "To the right is the boy's dormitory, left is the girl's. Myself and Eileen," said Rafe, motioning to the sallow faced girl Tom had seen in Flourish and Blotts, "are your Prefects. If you need anything, let us know. Midnight is the curfew for being back here in the common room. We can give points and we can take points away, so make sure you check the notice board for anything we might put up." He pointed to the notice board by the entrance to the common room. "Now, it's late and we all have an early morning tomorrow, so get some sleep. Your uniforms and things are already up in your dormitories." He stepped back, turning to talk to Eileen.

The majority of first-years made their way to the stairs and Malcolm walked over to Tom. "Ready for your first day?" asked Malcolm.

"Of course. So what were you going to say before?" asked Tom as they made their way over to two chairs by the window. They took their seats and Malcolm propped his feet up on a small table.

"The Heir of Slytherin is said to possess the same characteristics of Salazar and able to control the creature that lies within the Chamber of Secrets. Of course, we don't know if this Chamber really exists, as it's only legend, but you never know."

Tom nodded. "So what characteristics?"

"Being a Parselmouth, left-handed, even the appearance of the person possibly."

Tom chewed his lip thoughtfully. _Parselmouth…that's me…and I'm left-handed…_ He looked over at the portrait of their Founder for a few moments and then looked back at Malcolm. "So do you think there's an Heir?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"_Your foot isss in my way,"_ came a whispered voice. Tom blinked, glancing down. His eyes widened slightly upon seeing a black snake with silver lines. It was sitting in the two inch space between his chair and the wall. It stuck out its tongue, tasting the air and lifted its head, peering up at Tom. "_You can underssstand me?"_

Tom nodded slightly, glancing at Malcolm, who was talking with a boy that had walked over. Tom caught his name, "Gordon," and then looked back at the snake. "Do you have a name?" he whispered.

"_Nagini. And I'm a she._"

He checked to see if anyone was watching and then reached down, watching as Nagini slithered up to coil around his forearm. "You live in the castle?"

"_Yesss. I've been here for quite sssome time._" Nagini lifted her head as Tom brought her to his lap. _"You're new here…I haven't ssseen you around."_

"My first year."

"_You ssspoke of the Heir of Ssslytherin. You could be the Heir."_

Tom was quiet, thinking about that. _Hm…she's right…_ "Wouldn't the Heir have to be a pureblood?"

"_Not necessssarily. It doesssn't sssay that in the booksss._"

"What books?"

"_In the Ressstricted Sssection of the library. I sssee people go in and out all the time."_

"How do you get in there?"

"_I do not know."_

Tom felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and realized he was being watched. He looked to see Malcolm and his friend, Gordon, staring at Tom with open mouths, in shock.

"You – you can talk to snakes?" asked Malcolm in a whisper.

"Yes." Tom allowed Nagini to slither up his arm and around his upper back, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Y-you're a Parselmouth!" squeaked Gordon.

Tom shrugged. "Yes."

"T-this – there's never been a Parselmouth here before, not in ages!" exclaimed Gordon.

"They say that Parselmouths are Dark Wizards," said Malcolm quietly.

"Possibly." Tom shrugged. "Doesn't mean I'm a Dark Wizard."

"Are you left-handed?" asked Gordon.

"Why?"

"What if all that stuff about the Heir of Slytherin was true…" murmured Malcolm.

"You do look a lot like Salazar," commented Gordon.

"I guess I'll just have to figure that out," said Tom. He looked at Nagini. "Do you stay here?"

"_Yesss. I will talk to you later,_" she hissed, slithering over the back of the chair and down to the floor, disappearing into the shadows.

Tom looked back at Malcolm and Gordon, who had very curious expressions on their faces. "How long have you known?" asked Gordon.

"Ever since I was little. They spoke to me on trips to the country."

"This is wicked!" exclaimed Gordon excitedly. "I've never known any Parselmouths!"

"They're not that common," said Malcolm.

_I wonder if that's why Dumbledore gave me that look when I asked about my ability to speak to snakes,_ thought Tom. _He wouldn't give me any more information…did he think I was a Dark Wizard or something?_

"Boys, its nearing midnight," said Rafe, walking over to them. "We've got to get up at six, so you might want to head upstairs."

"Alright," said Malcolm, looking at Rafe. "We're heading up." He stood, looking back to Tom. "We should talk tomorrow night. I think I know of something that might interest you." He and Gordon, who was still staring at Tom, made their way towards the stairs.

Tom waited a few minutes before following, heading upstairs. He found himself in a short corridor. Names engraved on golden plates were beside each door. Tom found his name and saw that he would be sharing a room with Randolph, Alphard, and a boy named Dominic Avery.

Tom entered the room, looking around at the four, four-poster beds hung with dark green drapings. Beside each bed were a desk and wardrobe. A door to the far right was cracked open, revealing a bathroom. There were no windows but the walls had silver and green cloth draped over areas that weren't covered by rich tapestries. In the center of the room was a circular fireplace, covered by grates. Oil lamps sat on each desk, keeping the room well-lit.

"Hi," said a voice.

Tom turned, startled by the voice as he thought he was alone. A boy sat on a bed, feeding his eagle owl which was perched beside the bed. The boy was already in his pajamas and his ear-length dark brown hair hung in waves around his face. His dark eyes were friendly but there was something else hidden there.

"Hello," said Tom.

"I'm Dominic, Dom for short." The boy, Dominic, sat back against his pillows, kicking off his slippers. He folded his hands behind his head.

"Tom."

"You live in an orphanage, don't you? Randolph was saying something earlier about that."

Tom shrugged. "So?" He walked over to his bed, opening his trunk and pulling out his pajamas. He changed, sliding into his bed. "I'll find out about my family soon enough."

"Well you have to be a pureblood, otherwise you wouldn't have made it into this house," said Dominic.

_That's what you think,_ thought Tom.

Randolph and Alphard walked in at that moment. "I can't believe I'm finally here!" said Alphard with a grin. He changed into his pajamas, jumping onto his bed. "And in Slytherin! Just like the rest of my family. It's wicked!"

Randolph moved to his bed, changing, and sliding under the covers. "I knew I'd be in this house. There wasn't ever a question."

"Stick in the mud," smirked Alphard, throwing a pillow at Randolph.

"Just saying." Randolph threw the pillow back at Alphard and blew out his lamp. "I'm going to bed." Randolph reached over to his drapings and pulled them shut. Alphard, Dominic and Tom all looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

"I think he got up on the wrong side of the bed," whispered Alphard and Dominic snickered.

"I heard that," came Randolph's voice from behind his curtains.

"You were meant to," said Alphard and laughed.

"Tomorrow should be fun," said Dominic. "I look forward to Potions. I heard that Professor Slughorn, the head of our house, makes it really fun. _And_, we might even snag an invitation to his Slug Club."

"What's that?" asked Tom.

"Special group of Slughorn's," explained Alphard. "My father was part of it. Slughorn came in my father's final year here at Hogwarts and said that only the elite were selected."

"It could be fun," said Dominic. He stifled a yawn. "Tomorrow morning will come all too soon. Night." He blew out his light and closed his drapings.

"See you in the morning, Tom," said Alphard, doing the same.

"Night." Tom blew out his light, blanketing the room in darkness save for the fireplace in the center. He shut his drapings and laid back in his bed, looking upwards into the dark. _Hm…the Heir of Slytherin? Possibly. I'll have to see what books Nagini was talking about. I love this place already. It's such a relief from the orphanage and the people here…I'm actually getting along with them for the most part. I don't have to be on the edge all the time and defending myself. And seeing the looks in Malcolm and Gordon's faces when they found out I was a Parselmouth…I loved it. There was fear and awe and I could definitely get used to it._ He closed his eyes, settling himself to sleep.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and early. Too early in Tom's opinion. He heard something ringing and realized it was an alarm clock. He quickly pulled his pillow over his head, blocking out the sound. "Bloody alarm," he muttered.

"_It'sss morning,_"

"Go away Nagini." His voice was muffled by his pillow. He felt something touch his face and tickle his cheek. "Nagini, stop."

"_The othersss have already gone downstairsss to breakfassst. You're late."_

At that, Tom bolted up, opening his drapes. An angry hiss resulted from Nagini being suddenly knocked to the floor. "Sorry," he said quickly, looking around. Sure enough, everyone was gone. "Bloody hell," he cursed, climbing out of his bed. He glanced at the time. _Good, still a half an hour before breakfast starts,_ he thought. After a quick shower, he changed into his uniform. He paused, looking at the mirror. It was as if the poor orphan boy was gone and replaced by a completely different person. A tall boy looked back at him, with wavy dark hair, piercing eyes and pale skin. The uniform fit him well and he had to admit the green and silver seemed to make it even better. He donned his robe, smirking. _A serpent…how appropriate._

Running his fingers one last time through his hair, he left. As he neared the entrance to the Great Hall, a familiar blond head passed by, laughing with three other Gryffindors. Vincent saw Tom and said, "I'll catch you inside." Once the three Gryffindors had walked into the Great Hall, Vincent turned to Tom. "Looks like we're rivals."

"Appears that way," said Tom calmly. He noted that Vincent's robes weren't second hand and a spark of anger flashed in his stomach. He kept it down, his face remaining calm and cool. _He should never have left me_,Tom thought angrily.

"Thought we were going to stay best friends forever."

"Forever is a long time." Tom strode past Vincent and into the Great Hall, making his way over to the Slytherin table. He took a seat between Randolph and Alphard. Malcolm, Payton, and Dominic were sitting across the table.

"Finally made it," chuckled Alphard. "We were taking bets to see how long it would take you to wake up."

"Tom needed his beauty sleep," teased Payton.

Tom noticed a curious look on Dominic's face and said, "Dominic?"

Dominic opened his mouth to say something and then changed his mind, shutting it. He took a bite of his bacon and finally, after everyone was looking at him, asked, "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" asked Tom.

Dominic glanced around and then in an undertone, he whispered, "Are you a Parselmouth?"

Tom was surprised at the fact that Dominic already knew about his gift, but then again, he shouldn't have expected Malcolm to be able to keep a secret like that. He looked around at Alphard, Payton, Randolph, Alphard, and Dominic in turn, seeing what appeared to be awe on their faces.

"Are you serious?" asked Randolph, his eyebrows arched. For the first time, Randolph looked genuinely intrigued by Tom.

Tom felt a rush of excitement move through his body, twisting inside his stomach. At the orphanage, the other children were terrified of him and his ability to speak with snakes. The adults, he knew, thought that he was mad, or something else all together. However, here, it seemed, that his ability to speak Parseltounge was something to be in awe of. Being that it was a rare gift and very unusual, it would give him the necessary advantage that he wanted over the other students. But he couldn't be hasty and he couldn't show off. It had to work with his plan and he'd have to be the modest, role model student if it was going to work.

"Yes, I can speak it," said Tom.

"Wicked," came a few whispers.

"Oi! Randolph! Did you get in invitation yet?"

They looked to see Rafe making his way towards where the younger students were sitting. "What invitation?" asked Payton.

"From Professor Slughorn," said Randolph.

Rafe set his arm on top of Randolph's head, using it as an armrest. "He'll get it. He's a Lestrange," smirked Rafe.

"Get off me," protested Randolph, moving to get out from under his brother's arm.

"Or what?" taunted Rafe, messing up Randolph's hair.

"Rafe! Stop!"

The other Slytherins were snickering and even Tom felt a soft chuckle escape. He stared at his kippers, blocking out the sounds around him. _I…did I just laugh?_ he thought in surprise. It was such a change to the orphanage and he hadn't expected it at all. _One thing is for sure. I'm never going to want to leave here._ Part of the emptiness inside him seemed to be disappearing. Not to be mistaken for happiness, of course, or friendship, as he wanted neither. They weren't part of him and would never be.

"Boys, your schedules," said a cheery voice. Tom looked up to see a portly man with thick, shiny straw-colored hair and a gingery-blond mustache.

Tom took the piece of parchment from Professor Slughorn with a quiet, "Thanks," and looked at his schedule. _Double Potions this morning, then Double History of Magic…tomorrow is Broom Flying, Herbology and Charms. Double Transfiguration Wednesday…Astronomy that night. Broom Flying again on Thursday…then Double Defense Against the Dark Arts…Friday is Herbology, Charms, and Astronomy again…I hope all these will be interesting._

He felt eyes upon him and looked up to see Professor Slughorn still looking at him. "Professor?" asked Tom.

"Tom Riddle, is it?" asked Slughorn, fingering his mustache.

"Yes, sir."

Slughorn smiled, pulling out an envelope from the pocket of his robe. "This would be for you, m'boy."

"What is it, sir?" asked Tom, taking the envelope and turning it over in his hands.

"An invitation, only for the very best." Slughorn continued to smile. "I hope to see you tonight at the party. Details are inside." He turned, heading down the Slytherin table, continuing to hand out schedules.

"You know what that is!" asked Alphard excitedly. Tom looked over at him. "It's an invitation to his Slug Club! I got mine on the train. My brother's part of it, so are Rafe and Abraxas."

Randolph glared, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. "I haven't got one yet."

"You will," said Rafe, messing up Randolph's hair once again. "Eventually," laughed Rafe, skirting away just as Randolph went to hit him. Rafe smirked, walking away. Randolph grumbled something, attempting to fix his hair.

Most of the students were getting up, leaving the Great Hall to collect their books for their first classes. "We'd better go," said Payton, standing.

"Congrats on the invitation," said Malcolm with a smile. "Only certain people get them."

"And of course that would be you," said Payton.

"Of course," smirked Malcolm. "See you at lunch." He left their group to join with his own classmates.

Randolph, Payton, Tom, and Alphard made their way out of the Great Hall and back to the dormitories. After collecting their books, they walked through the dungeons until they reached the Potions classroom. They found seats at a table in the front and set their things beneath the chairs.

"Looks like we're having Double Potions with the Ravenclaws," said Payton, watching as a batch of Ravenclaws walked in.

"Well spotted," smirked Randolph.

"Oh shut it," retorted Payton.

Tom and Alphard glanced at each other, smiling a little. It still felt strange, smiling, laughing…but it was getting easier. _All the better for my plan. I know what I want and I _will_ get it. _

"Welcome to first-year Potions!" said Slughorn and they turned their attention to the professor. He stood before them, his hands clasped over his middle. "We've got quite the treat for you today! Nothing too advanced," he chortled, "but I'll be helping you out. This will take the entire period and don't hesitate to ask. Now, take out your books and turn to page ten. It will give you the list of ingredients for a Levitating Potion. We'll let them sit over break and then try them out!"

Twenty minutes later, cauldrons were steaming purplish fumes and students were busy crushing black beetle eyes. "Bloody Ravenclaws," muttered Randolph. "They think they know everything." He glared at two Ravenclaw girls who obviously thought that they had done it correctly, as they were sitting back, giggling with each other.

"Just ignore them," said Alphard, adding his last two ingredients to his cauldron. He stirred it, checked the time, and sat back.

"Easy for you to say. My potion is still yellow," said Randolph.

Tom glanced over at the Potion and then at the ingredients that Randolph still had left. "If you add the ectoplasm and then stir counterclockwise for six turns, it should help."

Randolph glanced at Tom, looking as if he was going to say something, but then just did what Tom said. Sure enough, the potion quickly turned a dark purple. "Thanks," said Randolph gruffly.

Tom merely nodded and went back to his own potion. "Let's see what you have here, Tom, m'boy," said Slughorn, peering down into Tom's cauldron. He took the stirring rod and lifted some of the now thickened liquid. "Very good!" Slughorn smiled brightly. "Quite the talented lad." He looked around at the rest of the class. "Finish your ingredients and then take your break. We'll try the potions when you get back."

Most of the class stood, leaving for break. Tom, Alphard, Dominic, and Payton stood, pushing in their chairs. Randolph, two other Slytherins, and two Ravenclaws were still left, finishing their potions. Suddenly a loud explosion rocked the room and a thick smoke filled the air.

Tom coughed, waving his hand to clear the air. The culprit was soon identified as a female Slytherin, whose cauldron had just exploded, sending gobs of sticky purple goo flying everywhere. Luckily, it had flown towards the two Ravenclaws, who were now covered in it.

"Ugh! Disgusting!" cried Victoria Riglsby, staring in horror at the goo that covered her. The Slytherins snickered, except Tom, who just watched with calm features.

"No one's hurt, good," said Slughorn, cleaning the mess with a wave of his wand. He moved to check the Slytherin and the Ravenclaws. "Just a bit of a shock. Happens every time. No need to worry. I'd make sure I add the pure water before the beetle eyes rather than after, Ms. Schaeffer." The Slytherin girl nodded, her face bright red from embarrassment.

"Rachel and potions don't seem to get along very well," snickered Randolph.

"You're one to talk," said Alphard with a smirk.

Randolph glared at Alphard. "At least mine don't explode."

"Are you sure about that?" asked Dominic, smirking as Randolph's potion began to bubble out of his cauldron.

Randolph looked quickly back to his cauldron and turned off the fire. He sagged back in relief as the potion settled down, now a deep purple. "Whew."

"Close call," laughed Alphard, clapping Randolph on the shoulder.

"Oi," said Dominic, nudging Alphard. He nodded towards a pudgy Slytherin girl named Millicent Harding, who was talking to her cauldron. Or so it seemed. Dominic and Alphard snickered. "Nutter."

Even Randolph was snickering, propping his feet up on an empty chair. "Oi! Harding! Does it talk back!"

"Leave her alone," said Philip Longbottom, one of the Ravenclaws, glaring at Randolph.

"Or what?" smirked Randolph.

"Boys, boys," said Slughorn, moving between the two. "No need to fight. Mr. Longbottom, why don't you help Ms. Riglsby finish her potion. Mr. Lestrange, I'd suggest you leave with your friends and enjoy your break." Slughorn gave them a pointed look and they complied.

Randolph stood, shooting one last glare at Longbottom, and said, "Let's go, Alphard." He and Alphard walked out, followed closely by Dominic.

Payton turned to Tom, smiling. "Never a boring moment."

"Seems that way," said Tom.

"Are you coming?" asked Payton as she headed for the door.

"I'll be there in a minute." Payton nodded and left. Tom began cleaning up around his cauldron, glancing at Millicent and Rachel. Millicent was still huddled over her ingredients, chopping them into tiny bits.

"If you chop any harder, they'll be dust," said Rachel, looking over at Millicent.

Millicent glanced at her but then went back to chopping, muttering something under her breath.

Tom just shook his head. _Mad, that one._ He stood, smoothing his robes. As he turned to go to the door, he felt a hand on his arm. He looked to see Professor Slughorn smiling at him. "Yes, Professor?"

"Tom, I have to say, I'm impressed already. Your potion is perfect."

"Thank you, sir."

"You grew up in an orphanage?"

"Yes, sir."

"Amazing," whispered Slughorn. "Simply amazing." He glanced around and then beckoned Tom over to his desk. Tom followed, folding his hands in front of his body, quiet. Slughorn took a seat, opening a tin of crystallized pineapple. "My favorite," chuckled Slughorn, eating his selection. Tom took note of this, storing it away in his memory. _Always good to know what I can use,_ thought Tom. "Now, Tom," said Slughorn as he leaned back. "I shall be watching your progress closely. I think you have the greatest potential out of all these students. And the fact that you didn't grow up in the wizarding world, is even more astonishing. You'll go far, Tom, mark my words. Now, Tom m'boy, if you need anything, you know who to ask." Slughorn gave him a wink and then stood.

Tom turned to see the rest of the students coming back in from their break, taking their seats. Tom walked back to his chair, sitting down. _First day and already I'm impressing the professors. Perfect,_ thought Tom with an inner smirk.

* * *

"That was brilliant!" laughed Alphard as they ate lunch. "I felt like I was flying!"

"That was fun," agreed Dominic. "I'll have to try that Levitating Potion again sometime."

"Boys," chuckled Payton, taking a bite of her sandwich.

"You know you loved it just as much," said Randolph. "You were laughing so hard your face turned purple."

"So were you," retorted Payton.

"I'm allowed to."

"How's that?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Just because. Why do I always have to explain everything?"

"Because I said so," smirked Payton.

Dominic and Alphard snickered, watching the display. "Oi!" They turned to see Malcolm and Gordon walked over to them. "How was Potions?" asked Malcolm as they sat down.

"We did Levitating Potions," said Tom, taking a spoonful of soup.

"Lucky!" exclaimed Gordon. "I can't wait until Potions. Slughorn is brilliant."

"What do you have after lunch?" asked Malcolm.

"History of Magic," said Randolph and made a face. "My brother said it's the worst class he's ever had to take."

"It is rather boring," agreed Malcolm with a chuckle. "But I'm sure you'll find ways to entertain yourself."

"Randolph can dream about Millicent," teased Payton.

"Disgusting!" Randolph shoved Payton away from him, who was laughing. "I'm trying to eat."

"What's this?" asked Malcolm, arching an eyebrow.

"Millicent Harding," snickered Dominic, jabbing his thumb towards the quiet girl that was sitting by herself a ways down the table. "Mad as a hatter."

"She is," said Alphard. "Talking to herself during Potions."

Malcolm and Gordon both smirked. "Well, then she and Randolph should get along quite well."

"What's that supposed to mean?" scowled Randolph.

"Nothing." Malcolm gave him an innocent look and then burst out laughing.

Tom looked over at Millicent, drowning out the conversation. He found that she reminded him of himself, in a way. Alone, friendless, always taunted. Not that he felt sorry for her. Of course not, that would just be silly. He was simply making an observation. _My life might have been horrible at that orphanage,_ thought Tom_, but here it's going to be far better. I refuse to be that person at the bottom. I will rise above everyone, including the professors. _

"So, Tom," said Malcolm, bringing Tom out of his thoughts. "Did Slughorn talk to you yet?"

Tom nodded. "During our break."

"You know why he invited you to his Slug Club, don't you?" Tom didn't answer, so Malcolm leaned forward. "Your special ability. Not very common."

Tom shrugged. "I know."

"All the Slytherins know," said Gordon.

"I wonder how that happened," said Payton sarcastically.

"It's a wicked ability! Everyone should know," said Alphard with a grin.

"I don't think we need to tell everyone," said Tom, looking at each of them. Even though his voice was quiet, it carried a silent command.

"Why not?" asked Dominic.

"When the time's right," said Tom simply.

They nodded. "Alright," said Alphard.

"We won't let the professors get wind of it," said Malcolm. "That's easy enough."

"Good," said Tom.

* * *

History of Magic passed by at an agonizing slow pace. By the time the first-years had escaped Professor Binn's classroom, they were all tired. Even through dinner, they talked about everything except the horrible class. Tom, of course, had somehow become the object of Binn's interest, as the professor had constantly asked him questions. So, as much as Tom wanted to sleep through the boring lesson, he had had to stay at least partially conscious.

After dinner, Tom headed to the library, deciding to check out this Restricted Section that Nagini had told him about. The others hadn't followed, wanting to stay as far away from books as possible. The Slytherins were having their first party and though Tom would be there later, he wanted to see what he could find on the Heir of Slytherin.

After gathering an armful of dusty volumes, Tom took a seat in the back, dropping the books onto the table in front of him. Only a few feet away was the entrance to the Restricted Section, the gated area dark and foreboding. _I wonder what sort of books are in there? Probably all the interesting ones,_ he thought.

He began flipping through a book on the Founders of Hogwarts. Footsteps drew his attention and he looked up to see a teenage girl with long brown hair tied in a ponytail walking by. She entered the Restricted Section, shutting the door behind her. _It can't be that easy,_ thought Tom.

He went back to the book, reading. About ten minutes later, the girl walked out and Tom decided to act. "Oi! How do you get in there?" he asked, nodding towards the Restricted Section.

The girl turned to look at him, a fat book in her arms. "You need a note from the Professors or be a Prefect," she said. Tom noted the shiny Prefect badge on her Hufflepuff robes.

"Thanks."

She nodded, turning and walking away. Tom sat back, looking at the Restricted Section. _I think I can manage that._ Stretching his arms, he went back to reading.

It took him several hours before he finally found something on the Heir. "_Working hard?"_ hissed a voice. Tom looked down to see Nagini on the floor, winding around his foot. He reached down, allowing her to slither up his arm.

Bringing her up to rest on his lap, he said, "I think I finally found something."

"_And what isss that?_" she asked, turning her head to look at the book.

"It says here that the Heir of Slytherin, being a descendent of Salazar Slytherin himself, can control the creature within the Chamber. However, Hogwarts has been searched countless times and no such Chamber has ever been found," read Tom. "How can I possibly be the Heir?"

"_You did not know your parentsss. They could be dessscendentsss."_

"My father possibly," said Tom. "But my mother was human. She wouldn't have died otherwise." He frowned, looking at the book. "I don't think my father would deserve to be a descendent of Salazar. He left my mother to die," said Tom darkly.

"_Perhapsss. Did you dissscover how to enter the Ressstricted Sssection?"_

"Yes. It shouldn't be too hard."

"_Perhapsss there are booksss in there that can help you. Booksss that they wouldn't want you to ssseee."_

Tom nodded. "Of course. I'll just have to wait and be patient." He closed the books and then picked up Nagini, allowing her to rest on his shoulders. He stood, picking up his books and putting them away. "I suppose you're going to hang around me now?"

"_Of courssse. You are very interesssting, Tom._"

"Thanks," smirked Tom slightly. "I'll take that as a compliment." He picked up his bag, shouldering it. "If you're coming back with me to the common room, you might not want to be on my shoulders."

"_I'll meet you there,_" said Nagini, sliding down Tom's arm and dropping to the floor. She slithered off into the darkness.

"This is going to be quite the year," said Tom quietly as he walked out of the library.


End file.
